A Note From KDHD

So I haven't been very good at posting lately...

I'm gonna go ahead and say it's because I haven't been on ADHD medication for three and a half weeks now, which is the longest I've gone without since third grade.

I've had to quit taking them because my heart's been freaking out lately, averaging at 120 bpm while resting. Since I took Adderall, my doctor was pretty confident it was involved somehow, so he forbade me from taking it ever again.

This is a problem.

See, I like taking my meds. They let me do things I can't normally focus long enough to do, like exercise, not eat so damn much, only sleep for seven to eight hours, sit through an entire episode of something other than Game of Thrones, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, or Arrested Development, remember to call my doctor about getting new meds or about my heart test results, or you know, write a reasonable blog post.

I need to call my doctor, but the problem with that is, I'm afraid of the phone. Not in a crazy person kind of way, but I really really really really really really really really really hate calling people on the phone, especially businesses.

I always feel like an idiot, and I'm completely incapable of regular human speech once there's actually a person on the line. I feel like I owe whoever I'm calling an apology after the call is over for my inability to function when a phone is in my hand.

I wish I could just text the doctor's office.

So usually, I procrastinate until I forget, and then it all works out. Unfortunately, that's not going to work this time around, seeing as it's about my heart and head, and both are pretty important.

Anyway, I know my last post was an apology ramble too, and I am actually working on a real post, so all I can say is, I'm sorry for this post. Better ones to come.

I Don't Even

I don't know what to write. I'm making it look like I'm blogging, but I'm really not. Not at all.

There is no point to what I'm doing. I'm probably not going to even post this. I'm sitting here with my family and a family friend, listening to them reminisce about college years, and weddings, and all that jazz.

It's all very fascinating.

I feel bad, because I haven't been doing anything lately, but I still can't come up with anything to blog about. All I can come up with is a blog post about how I can't write a blog post.

This is becoming a bit of a problem.

But I know I will get over this. Especially once school starts again in like...a month or three. I dunno when fall semester starts, and I don't feel like looking it up but I've been out for a month, so that's bound to mean something.

*Mom- I really want to add to this but I'm at a loss.

Glad you chimed in there, Mom.

There's a cupcake container on the table with four little cupcakes left, and it was full when the night started. We've turned into cupcake-eating monsters as of late. If there's ever a noticeable lack of cupcake in the house, some magical vortex seems to open up immediately, depositing a new batch of delicious, sugary pastries into our house. That, or my mom goes to the store and buys them.

I'm beginning to regret not wearing pants again.

This time it's a combination of bugs and cold, rather than just bugs, but this time, I'm not getting up to get them. I'll stick with my shorts, thanks.

Anyway, I said absolutely nothing in this post, but I felt the need to actually post something, so here it is. Sorry about this. Ignore it, really. I'll have something substantial soon.

Debbie, I Imagine?

I dearly remember my childhood friends Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine. I do not recall the circumstances that caused Sewing Machine to be encumbered with such a name, but being a sweet and accepting child, I rolled with it. I had no problem with the fact the Sewing Machine's name was not to be shortened or nicknamed in any way. She was Sewing Machine and that was okay. I loved playing with my little friends. We used to go to my grandparents' farm and we had a blast. They had a swingset there and a real live outhouse (why was THAT exciting? Shrug.) and (I know it doesn't really sound like a toy) this huge, I don't know, gas tank, I guess. Here,

So, we used to play on this thing all the time. If Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine weren't with me, my brother would play too, sometimes. We used to have contests to see who could jump onto the tank without using hands. We would come up with these routines like it was the Olympics or something and the gas tank was an apparatus. To be clear, my brother DID NOT participate in the Olympic thing. That was me, Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine. I seriously thought if the Olympic officials could see our routines, they would immediately include Gas Tank Gymnastics in the games and I would be the very first gold medalist. Even as I flipped and twirled on that honkin' gas tank, I never worried that it was dangerous. No one blew up, so we had that going for us.

*Girl* Which was nice.

Once in a while, one of us (usually me) would lose our grip and fall on our head. It wasn't far, though. There were no lasting effects.

My grandparents had this big barn with a big haymow on both sides, way high. In between was a rope. I don't know what the rope was for. It could not have been put there for grandchildren to try to kill themselves. But that's what we did with it. You could climb up and swing from the haymow and it was AWESOME! And none of us died from it. Yay. I think Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine were a little scared of the rope. They never came into the barn with me. My cousins and I would play in there all day (or until our parents found us....yikes), but not Debbie, Donna or Sewing Machine. Scaredy cats.

I guess it's a little ironic how Sewing Machine died, considering the extreme level of caution she demonstrated at Grandpa and Grandma's. Even though I swang on the barn-rope, there were things I knew better than to go near. My Mom's sewing machine, for instance.

I used to watch her sew and, Oh My Gosh, was that thing scary! Her hands would get so close to the foot thingie and I was terrified that she would get her hand caught and get sewed to death.

So imagine my sorrow when my dear friend Sewing Machine was killed in a Horrible Sewing Machine Accident! I don't know exactly what happened. No one ever told me the gory details, but I tell you, my imagination went into overdrive. I pictured poor Sewing Machine, stitches up and down her limbs, droplets of blood staining the very thread that both killed her and held her together.

Luckily the next day, Sewing Machine was back! She came back to life! What joy! What thrill! No vicious sewing machine could beat my sweet Sewing Machine! YAY!!!! Debbie, Donna, Sewing Machine and I played together for a few years after that horrid incident. Every once in a while, Sewing Machine would die yet another hideous death, but she would always come back the next day, or at least the next week. Some accidents were worse than others. I think Sewing Machine's deaths were far more gruesome if my Mom had recently been mending on her heavy-duty machine rather than making doll clothes on her normal machine. Buuut I can't be sure.

Dog Sitting

Two days ago, I got a dog stuck in my hair.

Maybe some background will help.

Since last Friday, I've been dog-sitting for my next-door neighbor. His dog is a one-year-old chocolate lab named Daisy. Perhaps you can see where this is going.

We're playing right now, and mid-joyous jump on the squeaky ball, she remembered she needed to pee, and did so. Almost on the ball. Sometimes she gets up before she's finished and pees as she walks. Yesterday she peed on her leash.

*Mom * Last week she peed in the street, presumably from the sheer joy of seeing me as she went on her thrice daily walk. Dogs ALWAYS have to pee when they see me. You were probably too young to remember, but when we lived in Iowa we had this neighbor who had a weiner dog named Phoenix and whenever she saw us, she was scared and tucked her tail between her legs, the she peed in terror , then she realized, "I know these people and I just remembered that I LOVE THEM", then she would wag her tail in glee and flick pee all over everyone. Of course this was hilarious to her owners, but to us....not so much.

I think that's a rite of passage among weiner dogs. You're not really a weiner dog until you've tail-pee-flicked someone.

My legs are itchy from bugs, but if I leave to put sweatpants on, Daisy'll wake up the neighborhood. Oh well, moving on.

Because Daisy is a one-year-old lab, we have to lock her in the laundry room when we're not at her house.



I'm bleeding now. I should probably go put on some pants. I'm covered in bug bites, and- THERE IS ONE ON MY EAR. Why does that happen? My ear? Really? Anyway...

She's getting pushy about this whole 'play' thing. Nudging against my computer and squeaking the toy far too often. Every time she touches something with her face, she covers it in a fresh coat of slobber. My computer is no exception.

Where was I going with this? Right. Hair.

So, I feel bad if I leave her locked up for too long, but it gets too hot too quickly for her to hang out outside with us for any length of time, so I'll go over to her house and watch a movie in the basement, keeping an eye on her tearing around the house.

And I'm not being soft. I'll come over to let her out, and she'll have rearranged the enclosure she'd been kept in, covering the drain next to her cage, and extending the cage into the next room, all the while destroying everything she can reach.















It's become an adventure to go over there in the afternoon.

She's already destroyed two rolls of paper towels that my neighbor had left for me in the case of any accidents. This dog managed to destroy a Kong squeaky thing. That's where the ball we're currently playing with came from. Also, it used to be my dog Bailey's toy, but she doesn't care anymore.

Two nights ago, Mom and I were hanging out in Daisy's basement, trying to wear her out before putting her to sleep. I was making weird noises and faces, and just kind of messing with her, and of course she was going insane because of it. In a fun, puppy-like way.

Then I made the mistake of messing with her ears a little.

She veered right when I did this, connecting our heads with way more force than I would've liked. After switching to tackling me, it became apparent that something was wrong. My hair hurt, and Daisy couldn't get off of me. I was laughing too hard to really communicate my distress, but I eventually got my mom to understand that something was wrong and it had something to do with my head.

In the throes of playing with Daisy, my hair had gotten caught in her pincher collar, which of course she doesn't understand. When she realized she couldn't get away from me, the only logical step for her to take was to try harder. Which she did.

It took both of us to get Daisy calm, and my hair free, but we eventually did without ripping it out of my skull.

Also, there's a bee flying around my head, a spider somewhere on my chair, and a mosquito just landed on my finger. I'm so done with Summer nature, and it's only June 9th. dddddddddddddddd. <= That was Daisy. Now I have to clean her slobber off my keyboard.