Stewart B. Potts's Narcoleptic Pet Potato

I've been away! It's just that, well... I discovered Threads, and I have been having a hard time keeping a healthy Threads (work) - Tumblr (life) balance. They are both really nice communities.

Anyway! I've been posting my bunny pictures there, which isn't fair! Everyone deserves bunny photos! Stewart has been dealing with the ear infection from Hell. It just WON'T go away, or it has been seeming this way. See how his little face is all drawn up one side? That's because it hurts! My poor little guy.

This has been going on for over a month, and that is just such a long time to be in that much pain. He is feeling better though, as demonsrated by his enthusiatic playtime with sticks! As of last night, I think his face is slightly less drawn. He has a vet appointment today.

I've been keeping track of his progress in part by taking a lot of photos. Of course I included a Gilly Butt for good measure.

Then it got worse, and I couldn't stay awake in choir rehearsal. After a few weeks of that I dropped out for the season (Our concert is in two weeks, and I can't be falling asleep while onstage.)

Last week, my pharmacy ran out of stock on my controlled medication. I managed to get it from a different pharmacy but I went two days without my stimulant. During those two days, I suddenly felt better. So, that was weird. I guess the thing keeping me awake is putting me to sleep now.

I'm wearing off another medication that causes me to be dehydrated. For some reason, it feels like chronic dehydration isn't a big deal to anyone, but it's been ruining me. Just drink more water right? Just drink and drink and never stop drinking. Anything that isn't fluid feels like torture. No, that isn't working.

I haven't been off meds in years. Before that, I was having problems with low energy, disordered sleep, and cataplexy episodes. So, I guess my life is a series of honeymoon phases for medications and for periods of no medications.

So, I'm pulling it from that site, and having it published locally by someone who will have it copyrighted, format it to look nice, give me freedom to illustrate it, and sell it at book and art fairs, and online. I'm not going to be rich and famous, but I'll have way more visability, and my book will look nicer. Plus, if this goes well, she'll be interested whenever I make another book, which I hope to do.

The owner of this publication company is good friends with someone I trust and respect. So, I'm going to do this!

(Pet death)

Ya know, it would be insane if anything came of this, but I've seen miracles happen, so I'm going to put this out there:

(TL;DR: I lost a small wooden box containing my dog's ashes somewhere between GA and NM.)

In 2021, my husband and I (and our five small dogs, two rabbits, snake, and a hamster) moved from Georgia to New Mexico, and the only thing that didn't make it to our new home was a little wooden box containing the ashes of our sweet dog, Buttercup. I had been afraid to pack it; I didn't want to put her in a box; I didn't want to leave her loose. But I'm narcoleptic, which means I dream while awake. I don't always know what's real and what I've imagined. By the time we took off, I firmly believed I had put her ashes in a safe place. It's because keeping her ashes safe was of utmost importance to me that I probably dreamed of them.

Buttercup was my heart dog. She was a tiny somewhat medically fragile chihuahua. She was a gentle, affectionate, absolute idiot of a dog with a soft walnut for a brain. Beloved beyond measure by her four younger sisters, she was especially worshiped by our other chihuahua, Rose, who follwed her everywhere and annoyed her to no end. She got me through mourning when my mom passed away. She is legally documented as a legal member of our wedding, as it was still a thing in Georgia that we had to list someone who would "give me away".

When I had anxiety and narcolepsy related episodes, Buttercup used to bark at me until I came to and assured her that I was okay. She was a little athlete who loved long walks, fetch, toys that crinkled and squeaked, and busting open plastic Easter eggs as many times as I would put them together. She was my special girl.

In 2018, at the age of ten, she had a severe autoimmune reaction to what vets thought must have been a spider bite. Her lungs became so inflamed, she couldn't breath, and ended up in an oxygen chamber for a week. The morning she was cleared to go home, she threw a blood clot and passed away. It just broke me. I didn't get to be there with her at the end. I didn't get enough time with her.

When we got to New Mexico, and I didn't find her ashes right away, I didn't panic. It takes a long time to unpack completely. There was no way, I thought, that I would have left them behind. Surely, they were just hidden somewhere.

I didn't leave my little dog behind. Buttercup visited me in my dreams almost every night for my first couple of years in New Mexico, but I never found her ashes.

When I told them I was excessively thirsty, they said it was normal in the hot, humid climate because of allergens. Then it was normal in the dry climate.

When I told them I was having cataplexy attacks they said I was being dramatic.

When I told them I was in pain they said it was because I let myself be in pain.

When I told them I didn't feel like I could walk too far from my house, or commit to plans (including job opportunities), because my body was exhausted, overheating, and felt ready to collapse, they basically shrugged.

When I told them my skin was irritated and sore, they said moisturize.

When I told them I was so dehydrated, I had stabbing pains in my gut every day, they said eat more greens.

When I told them I had frequent spasms in my back, they said, "Some people are just like that."

When I pointed out visible inflamation in my neck, they said, "Some people just look like that."

When I chronically had blood in my urine, they said, "Some people just always have a little blood in their urine."

When my migraines were debilitating, they said, "Take some aspirin."

When my nose just bled and bled, they said, "Are you picking your nose?"

When I wasn't handling any of this so well, they said, "You need to get control of your anxiety."

I pushed myself really hard, because I was told everything I experienced was just a normal human experience. I tried to stop being so dramatic. I tried to put it out of my mind. Until I just couldn't anymore.

And now, I am so angry sometimes. I just get so angry. And so sad.

I just mourn the life I could have had. And then I still feel like I'm supposed to be doing MORE. Right NOW.

But actually, I just want to be enough. Here and now, in this moment. I just want what I am today to be enough.

Me, having anxiety: What if someone has a parrot and then falls in love with someone with a cat? What do they do? Never move in together?

Aqaintance: I don't know. That could be bad.

Me: Yeah, really bad! Has anyone thought about this!?

Aqaintance: ...

Me: Oh, yeah... probably not.

I've always had trouble reading. I constantly find that I've been looking at words, but not reading them. As a result, I don't read much. (I do listen to audio books sometimes, but I have issues with headphones and stuff on my ears, so I hadn't been doing much of that.)

It seems like a processing thing, but I've been suspicious that it might be a dissociative thing. I usually have a stupidly hard time switching modes from "I am reading or writing" to "I am doing anything that isn't reading or writing". It's why I always learn music by ear for chorus, and why I don't generally take notes in classes or gaming sessions.

A little while later, I saw that they had deleted their mean comments.

I was reminded that there are times when I have been unfairly mean, and when someone put me in check I also backed off. I had to examine why I was being mean. Invariably, it would be because I was unhappy, and lashing out at someone who I tangentially associated with the thing that was making me unhappy.

I made a REALLY long post, and wasn't sure how to pare it down.

I was looking at social media conversation about communication on dating apps, and I feel like I have a theory on communications styles. Kind of like the guess or ask cultures, I think that people can also be categorized into pro-questions or no-questions (It's the most literal description I could think of), and it causes drama when they collide.

Pro-Question:

•Conversations are structured.

•It's clear to see who's turn it is to speak.

• The conversation is volleyed/passed by way of asking questions.

•Not asking (personal) questions is rude, and considered taking over the conversation, especially if you're talking about yourself or a niche topic that might not interest everyone.

•Interuptions are rude.

•Talking when you haven't been asked anything isn't always rude, but might be taken as monopolizing the conversation.

• Everyone gets a chance to talk.

• The conversation is guided by exploring specific, agreed upon topics.

• Info-dumping and oversharing is monopolizing.

• Communication is straightforward, but takes more forethought, because you are expected to ask thoughtful questions.

• Generally more accepted way to converse.

• PQ communicators show empathy by listening or offering condolences or advice.

• PQ communicators show interest by asking questions.

• In a conversational lull, PQ communicators may share or ask a question, but lean towards asking a question.

• PQ communication is ideal in professional or formal settings.

•PQ people might think NQ people are rude and self-centered, perhaps even narcisistic. They may find NQ style of conversation too chaotic and hard to follow. They feel like they are carrying most of the labor of the conversation if they are the only ones asking questions.

No-Questions

• Conversation is comparatively chaotic.

• People may talk over each other. It isn't necessarily considered rude, especially if they're on the same subject.

•Asking personal questions feels very forward, maybe even like overstepping.

• Talking about yourself is an implied invitation for others to do the same. (NQ communicators share their thoughts *in lieu of* asking questions, and assume others are doing the same.)

•You're expected to say whatever is on your mind without a promt.

•Interuptions are sometimes integral to communication.

•The conversation is guided by the moment, and may take drastic shifts.

• Info-dumping and oversharing is common.

• While often loud and fast paced, NQ style of communication is actually more passive/nonconfrontational, because a lot of it is based around avoiding asking personal questions.

•NQ communicators show empathy by sharing anecdotes.

•NQ communicators show interest by sharing their thoughts and feelings.

• In a conversational lull, NQ communicators might share to fill space/make the conversation flow.

• This l communication style is common for people with ADHD, or possibly in the neurodivergent community in general.

•NQ people may find PQ communication style boring, stifling, or just difficult to maintain. They may feel like PQ communicators are easily offended, or that they have too many unspoken rules. Asking or being asked questions is not in the NQ social contract.

_________

I'm not any sort of communications professional, or psychology major - Just a socially awkward goober. I wrote this, because I often witness these two types of communicators have terrible interactions, and have personally lost friendships over related communication barriers. I both have a hard time picking up on narcisistic behavior, and a hard time guaging when I am taking over conversations (vs just filling space), which can come across as manipulative or self serving.

I'm learning how to be a question asker, but coming from an entire family of Non-question-askers, it feels rude and overly-forward, and has been something I have had to actively learn. Learning has been rewarding.

But yesterday, I race-changed to a wood elf. The reason is, a Fae NPC offered to turn me into any type of elf connected to this version of the Fae Realm, and I said, well yeah of course, which is ridiculous.

I have this thing in games that I call "The Yes Rule", which is that if I recieve a big crazy offer, or a wild, possibly stupid opportunity, if I think, "My character wouldn't do that'" wrong! Yes they would! (Exception: If it's an evil thing, I don't do it. I never play evil characters.)

Every character I play has their own version of the yes rule, and their own little moment where they decided it had to be an absolute. My first yes rule moment was at a LARP, when I didn't jump into an interdimensional vortex, because it was an objectively bad idea. While I was sitting in the tavern being smarter than everyone else, half the town went on a super fun adventure.

This particular character has actually been the voice of reason a LOT in this group, despite being seen as a little silly, so they were kind of surprised. In-game explained the yes rule to them, so of course they all agreed that I HAD to do it.

OH BY THE WAY, a friend of mine plays my IDENTICAL TWIN SISTER. The only physical difference between us is she's a couple inches shorter and slightly less built. So I had to ask my identical twin if she minded me IMPULSIVELY BECOMING A DIFFERENT SPECIES PERMANENTLY.

So anyway, once we got that taken care of, I informed the Fae lord that I would like to be a wood elf. He asked if I was SURE, and wouldn't I like to be a stronger type of elf who wouldn't take a disadvantage when swinging my giant-ass burning sword named SKULLINATOR (ALL CAPS!). I said no, because I don't believe in half-ass yeses! Also, I really like green, and Wood elves seem the most green adjacent.

Anyway, so I did that, and I think it's going to be really fun playing this character adapting to this huge change. But then I was in full actual panic mode for the rest of the day. Like, I had actual anxiety about this in-game decision for a fictional character. And I can't place my finger on why. Maybe it's just character bleed. Or maybe I'm just recently getting used to making my own decisions without thinking about if everyone else around me likes them and approves, so even fictional decisions are stressful. Maybe both.

Anyway, this is going to be fun, right? And my twin approves. I'm an elf with an identical twin who is a half-orc! 😆

I'm already working on a new Hero Forge design... I don't know if she's going to change her style much.

For example, I've been in several choirs. I never knew the songs. I didn't even know what we were singing. If someone asked, I couldn't tell them anything about the program except maybe the main theme. But I never worried about it, because I knew that when I was singing with the choir, I had all the music memorized.

This isn't something that never happens to anyone. That's just how I've always been with everything. I'm reading a book: No, I can't tell you what it's about, but I'm pretty sure I'm enjoying it. I'm watching a series: I know who's in it, but I don't know which character they play, or anything that is currently happening in this series. I just know it must be good, because I'm always excited to watch it!

It's also always been hard to explain being in the zone, and feeling like I literally only exist for the one thing I'm doing. And then coming out of it and not being able tell you a thing about it. I don't know how my level of dissociation compares to everyone else's. For thing, I've been having a lot of trouble in dance class, because dancing is very grounding, and I don't know how to do things when all (or a lot) of my mind is present.

I had this social realization recently. It goes with my recently aquired distrust of "autism moms" (I'm so sorry, good mom's of autistic kids. I know you're out there.)

A while back, I seemed to have pissed off this person, and I never knew why. We were out somewhere, and her autistic daughter had no toys or anything, and was being completely ignored.

The mom told me, "You don't have to talk to her. She's autistic. She doesn't talk anyway."

I was like, wow okay, and proceeded to talk with the little girl. I humbly recieved a big info dump about cats.

I said to her mom, "Actually she had a lot to say!" I was so honored and happy, I told described our whole conversation.

A year later, this morning, I woke up with the thought in my head...

"Ohhh... I undermined her parenting. That's probably why she was so cold towards me after that."

Telling my spouse this, I said, "I guess it was like a big "f*** you to her for me to do that but..."

My spouse: "She deserved a big f*** you."

I shared this elsewhere, but I feel like talking about it. I'm in ISF therapy. I meditate and visualize a lot, and when things pop into my head, I take them seriously. I explore them; Communicate with them. I see what in me they represent.

There is a part I call Delft Blue. She has porcelain skin. She's super passive, and doesn't talk. I talked about this with my therapist, and we agreed that she is the part of me that needed to be very, very quiet growing up, for various reasons. And that she feels neglected, unloved, and unimportant.

In this therapy, you find what a part needs, and you provide it. So, I wrote Delft Blue a song. And that is why I call this Song Delft Blue. And, I didn't tell everyone on social media, but I put the music to a video of my digital drawing, and guess who it is.

I shared because I think lots and LOTS of people (with or without dissociative disorders) have parts like this that need to be told "You are loved." If you don't tell your mind these things, you may never believe them.

There's this thing where I feel invisible and worthless.

There's this thing where poetry doesn't feel like "real" writing, because it's not a novel, it's niche, and nobody's making it into a movie. But it is real writing.

There's this thing where participating in something as a volunteer doesn't count, because it isn't a job, even if you work very hard at it, and can very tangibly recognize the fruits of your labor.

There's this thing where art isn't art if it isn't on a canvas, or if nobody buys it.

There's this thing where you write a song and sing the song, but nobody hears it, so it didn't make a sound.

The other day in my narcolepsy group, I admitted that I had stopped working, and stopped considering work when I finally accepted that I have a legitimate disability. The person I was talking to expressed worry that they would "fall down the same path", and could never just stop contributing to their household.

I told them this path is one I had taken, but not fallen down. And that I don't contribute financially, but I still contribute.

There's this thing where I don't feel like my contributions count, because they're traditionally viewed as "woman's work", which men are above, and women are beyond. But they do count. I count.

The last couple that I got were basically "Hero ICE agents arrest horrible illegal immigrants for illegally existing."

Today it said they gallantly arrested thirteen super-duper illegal immigrants who were at a driver's license center, maliciously updating their non-domiciled commercial learner's permits, after concerned citizens reported too many brown people in one place.

I Googled "non-domiciled commercial learner's permit."

FMCSA.DOT.GOV says:

Only those in lawful immigration status (who provide “evidence of lawful immigration status” as defined in 49 CFR § 383.5) in the United States in one of the following employment-based nonimmigrant statuses will be permitted to obtain a non-domiciled CLP or CDL: H–2A (Temporary Agricultural Workers), H–2B (Temporary Non-Agricultural Workers), or E–2 (Treaty Investors). No other immigration statuses (e.g., E–2S) will be eligible for a non-domiciled CLP or CDL.

So yeah, it's a little weird.

Yay I got MY final copy of my little mini book! I went with the matte finish for the cover. Understated!