Sacha Jones's Blog, page 22

Drugs for mugs

I copied and pasted this list of possible side-effects for the drug I have just been prescribed. Below, I weigh up the pros and cons of taking the drug in light of said side-effects:

"Commonly reported side effects of (drug I've just been prescribed and paid for) - include: diarrhea, nausea, ejaculatory disorder, insomnia, headache, drowsiness, and delayed ejaculation. Other side effects include: constipation, dyspepsia, anorgasmia, dizziness, fatigue, xerostomia, decreased libido, and diaphoresis. See below for a comprehensive list of adverse effects (emphasis added but should have been there for a bit of light relief).For the Consumer: In addition to its needed effects, some unwanted effects may be caused by (drug I've just been prescribed and paid for). In the event that any of these side effects do occur, they may require medical attention.Severity: MajorYou should check with your doctor immediately if any of these side effects occur when taking (drug I've just been prescribed and paid for):Rare:
Coma confusionconvulsionsdecreased urine outputdizzinessfast or irregular heartbeatheadacheincreased thirstmuscle pain or crampsnausea or vomitingshortness of breathswelling of the face, ankles, or handsunusual tiredness or weaknessMore common:
Constipationdecreased interest in sexual intercoursediarrhoeadry mouthejaculation delaygas in the stomachheartburninability to have or keep an erectionloss in sexual ability, desire, drive, or performancesleepiness or unusual drowsinesstrouble sleeping
Less common: 

Bloated or full feeling, burning, crawling, itching, numbness, prickling, "pins and needles", or tingling feelings. Chills, cough, decreased appetite, excess air or gas in the stomach or intestines. Fever, general feeling of discomfort or illness, increased sweating, joint pain, muscle aches and pains. 

Not able to have an orgasm, pain in the neck or shoulders, pain or tenderness around the eyes and cheekbones, passing gas, runny nose, shivering, sneezing, sore throat,stuffy nose, tightness of the chest, tooth problems,trouble breathing,unusual dreams,unusual drowsiness, dullness, tiredness, weakness or feeling of sluggishness, yawning..."


Reaction of consumer no. 5820000000000000000003 prior to taking said drug:


Yawning I think I can just about cope with, but not to the point of comatisation, though that would help with my insomnia. However, if I am in a coma I might need some assistance contacting my doctor, especially if I'm also confused (about being in a coma).

Inability to get or keep an erection shouldn't be too much of a problem, especially if I'm in a coma. 

Decreased appetite sounds promising, though not so much if it's because of tooth problems. And what are these 'tooth problems' exactly? Will my teeth fall out or just start rearranging themselves in my mouth? Will they go on strike and refuse to eat until I clean them thrice daily with Jiff? They could be a bit clearer on the tooth-problem front. You can't just tell a person they might suffer 'tooth problems' and leave it at that. 

Trouble breathing could be a problem but if I'm passing a lot more gas than usual it might be better not to breathe.

Xerostomia and diaphoresis are not a problem because I don't know what they are.

Inability to have an orgasm and 'perform' sexually; I can blame my husband for that.

Pain in the joints, muscles, eyes, cheekbones, neck and shoulders, well at least my hair won't be troubled.

Diarrhoea and constipation? I think this is drug company speak for don't blame us if you get in the shit. Clearly they want to have their cake and eat it too. They can eat my cake. 

Tightness of the chest? Cheaper than a boob job.

Itching, prickling, crawling, tingling, burning, bloated, dizzy, numb feeling? I grew up in Australia; you'll have to do better than that!

Unusual dreams. Are there any other kind?

Sleepiness and trouble sleeping. First world problem.

Dry mouth? Let it rain.

Runny nose? You can't have it all.

Convulsions? Get a grip.

Decreased urine output? I won't tell if you don't. 

Increased thirst? Any excuse.

Headache? No kidding. 


The thoughtful and thorough side-effects novelist then goes on to explain that the drug could cause increased depression in the short term, even bringing on suicidal thoughts, but stops short of listing death as a possible side-effect. 

So. Provided I'm not in a coma or dead, or stressing about my decreased urine output or troubled teeth, I'll get back to you in due course on the actual side-effects of said wonder drug on me, presuming I take it. I have to fly soon and the doctor, who failed to mention most of these possible side-effects, did say that the drug increases your risk of in-flight deep vein thrombosis, which is usually lethal.

I think I feel that increased thirst coming on...   

   

How to be a man

I've shared here Chuck Wendig's lengthy, 'comments closed', blog post in response to the latest mass shooting in the US, because it's the best piece of writing on the subject of men and guns and power and patriarchy I have ever read.

I want to add by a man because I've read (and perhaps written) so many well written and researched essays expressing the same basic sentiment that Chuck espouses in his post, namely that the problem of violence and men is essentially one of a world-wide, culturally corrupt ideal of masculinity that begins with the telling of men -- heterosexual and particularly white men -- that they are special and better; chiefly and firstly, better than women, and so gay men who are denigrated for being 'like women'.

But I'm not adding this because I appreciate that it is both more difficult and more important for a man from this privileged 'special' group to express this sentiment and say, both, that it is wrong and dangerous for men and women alike to assume that men are better, as well as right and empowering for men and women alike to admit that we - (white heterosexual) men - are not special.

God is not a heterosexual man, Muslim, Christian, Jewish or whatever other name and frame you give 'Him'. God is gay. God is straight. God has a vagina. God has balls. God has tears. God has fur and leaves. The one thing 'God' doesn't have is a gun or any other macho weapon of destruction, including the fist.

All babies make fists. All babies cry. One action is not masculine, the other feminine, neither expresses strength or weakness. They are merely natural and equal ways that human beings express emotion. Ironically, perhaps, the baby fist tends to express insecurity and the baby tears frustration and anger, at least some of the time.

All babies smile and all loving parents celebrate that first smile which occurs very early on in life.

We are all frustrated, angry and insecure and we are all capable of joy. Beyond our individual quirks of character, we humans are all essentially the same, and that which says we are essentially different corrupts, weakens, angers and ultimately destroys us all. If we are ever going to learn to live together without violence and hate we need to go back to the beginning and undo that first mistake of thinking one group of people more special than and fundamentally different to any other group.

Thank you Chuck for taking us back to the beginning and for not making this mass killing about religion or terrorism or even homophobia, but instead the cultural construction and corruption of masculinity. Awo-men to that.
    

On endurance: It takes women longer

TIME: Twenty-three years agoDid you know that female and male sperm behave quite differently, with endurance being the distinguishing trait of the female and speed the distinguishing trait of the male? Probably not, but you should, because it explains a hell of a lot.

Did you also know that in her 20s Hillary Rodham turned down repeated marriage proposals from Bill Clinton, worrying that she would lose her independent identity through marriage, and when she finally accepted him, kept her own name (not adding the 'Clinton' for more than a decade) against the wishes of both of their conservative families and the prevailing patriarchal culture of her country and world?

Or that she was raised by Republicans and turned Democrat when, in her early twenties, the 'veiled' racism of the Republican party became evident to her and she found them on the wrong side of the campaign to end the war in Vietnam?

Or that she was the first female partner of a top US law firm and earned far more than her husband for many years until, with her help and financial support, he made it to the White House; or that as First Lady in the 1990s she campaigned hard for healthcare reform along the lines of Obamacare (it was derogatorily dubbed Hillarycare) but failed to get it through a predominantly Democratic (male) House?

Probably not, because the media don't wan't you to know that this woman (or any woman), whose name should appear under the dictionary definition of 'Endurance', has been battling for women, for peace, for the poor, for racial equality and for justice for all before most of us knew what these battles were and, indeed, before her husband, who was more focused on the linear (classic male) race to political power.

Nor do the media or Bernie Sanders and people want you to know that this election battle is first and foremost a gender battle, a battle between endurance and speed and all their associated strengths and weaknesses, and that this is the longest battle ever fought and the most important for the world to win, because, as all happy lovers know: endurance trumps speed.

If Donald, who epitomises the male approach to life, 'love' and liberty: the first there at any cost wins and stuff the 'losers', wins this race against Hillary, who epitomises the female approach of perseverance, courage and the long-term (never-ending) fight for what's right, then we've only got ourselves to blame, especially those on the left who labelled Hillary a liar and made the contest between her and Bernie about anything but gender justice, all the while propping up the dominant gender and ethos.

I know this simplifies matters some, but a degree of simplification in politics is unavoidable and necessary for a functioning democracy. Plus, it's lunchtime and there are degrees of endurance amongst women and mine, for now, is up. But I'll be back...

In the meantime, check out this interesting article incorporating related themes: It's time to admit Hillary Clinton is an extraordinarily talented politician .

  



      

Misery and Me: A Memoir

Why didn't I think of that for the title of my memoir: 'Misery and Me: A Memoir'? All those emmmmms! -- you know how I admire, accrue and alight upon alliteration.

In fact, I am thinking hard about writing a feminist memoir to the title: 'Misogyny and Me: A Mindfuck', but that doesn't quite have the same ring of recognition to it and at least one of those words probably wouldn't make it past the book-title censors (misogyny).

But no. There is a reason I didn't title my memoir 'Misery and Me', and that reason was made clearer to me on the weekend when the Sydney Morning Herald explained that my memoir is not a 'misery memoir', nor an 'inspirational memoir' indeed, but a memoir of 'ordinary events and aspirations' from a 'fairly typical' family and girl.

So there is that: my life is not, or at least was not when I was growing up, miserable. Nor was it inspirational, which is the word used for misery overcome. Rather, it was ordinary and typical.

So why do I (want to) feel so miserable then?

Well, there used to be a saying: it's better to be ugly than plain. Similarly, it might be said, it is better to be miserable than ordinary.

Except, no. Not quite.

I had my moments of misery growing up, don't you worry about that. Indeed my tears provided the main source of irrigation in our neighbourhood during the otherwise dry, brown-grass months. But I didn't want to burden you with those tears (the editors cut them out), in part, I now think, because before writing it, I had cried my way through writing a PhD thesis on a topic: domestic abuse and homicide, that is Miserable with a capital M and I'd had misery up to here (indicates the sky) when I'd finally, after ten years of tears, finished it.

Indeed the thesis taught me, in oh so many ways, what true misery was and that my own happiness lay in finding a way to laugh at myself, and life, as therapy. It also taught me that I'm far too emotional to work as an effective academic. Never mind; better late than never.

So where Jeanette Winterson's deranged mother told her: Why be happy when you could be normal? which she turned into the title of her own brilliantly ironic 'misery memoir', my non-misery memoir might be alternatively titled: 'Why be miserable when you could be ordinary?' It's better to laugh than cry, indeed, just not quite so inspiring (or lucrative, I dare say). The miserable shall inherit the earth, and I guess, all said and done, that's fair enough.  

SMH 4.6.16.
   

The last launch

Okay folks. This is my last hurrah on the book-promotion front, at least as far as my blog goes -- and only if I can help it, which I probably can't, because I'm not in charge any more, but I will try.

My Sydney launch  (RSVP link here) has finally been set for a month from today and here is the invite, decorated with various pictures of me in my dancing days, mostly dressed as an animal. It's an indication of the wackiness of my young life and dancing career, all of which can be appreciated in much more depth and drama if you read the book itself. But you know that -- right? Right.

So... if there is anyone out there likely to be in the vicinity of Glebe Sydney on the third day of the seventh month and 16th year of the third millennium, I would be so marvellously moved if you would find your way to Gleebooks mid-afternoon to take part in my launch, I will offer you a free glass of wine -- or mineral water -- and even more generously, sign a copy, or several copies, of the book(s) you buy -- provided it is my book, that is; I don't think they'll let me sign other people's books. If they do, I will. Whatever it takes.

See you in Glebe!

Giving book birth

No babies were harmed in the making of
this image (I hope).
The writing of a book is kind of like the conception of a child -- fun, on the whole, provided it doesn't take too many do-overs or require the daily monitoring of one's temperature to ensure that the whole thing isn't an effing waste of time, with nothing but a sore 'back' and worn weary sheets to show for your efforts.

But the publishing and promotion of a book, that couldn't be more like the giving birth part of producing a child if it bled and wailed and tore at your tender bits till you said: 'stuff this, I've changed my mind. Let's get a dog.'

The only difference between delivering a book and a baby is that the reward part -- the publishing --comes first, followed by the labour pains of promotion, a pain for which there is no known drug relief (I've investigated a few), and no known end. After my first month of promotion contractions even the snarliest of dogs on our local beach are starting to look appealing.

In truth, though I do have three, more or less well children, I was next to useless at the giving birth part and fear I am not altogether acing the promotion part of this book birthing business either. I am doing my best, of course, but as with the baby birthing business, my best seems to be proving inadequate to the task, to the point that, eventually, men in white coats with long faces and forms for loved ones to sign will be brought in.

I don't seem to know when to push and when to pull back and pant patiently, you see, and don't take as kindly as some to being told. Then, before you know it (34 hours later) they tell you the baby is in distress and your husband (number one support person and reader) is asleep.

Still, I do have an exceptionally high pain threshold -- as you will know having read my dance memoir -- so I'm not done in yet. The one saving grace of the book birthing business is that there's no biological clock to say your time's up. You can do it, if necessary, on your death bed, which, at the rate I'm going, looks increasingly likely.          

Muslim Mayor

I think this is the first time I have used the M-word in a title. I wonder if it sets off alarm bells somewhere; I wouldn't be surprised.

LONDON, my favourite city in the world -- though that's mainly because outside of my two home cities (Sydney, Auckland, which I also love), I have only lived in London -- has just appointed a Muslim man called Khan to the mayoralty. Hurrah for London! Hurrah for Khan!

The media are reporting that London's population of 9 million or so is now 44% 'non-white'. 'Non-white' is a very large category of people. If they unite against us, we, the weary whites, are -- just between you, me and the white gate post -- fckd. I hope it doesn't come to that.

But before that, indeed to ward that off, a big hurrah to Mayor Khan!! It even sounds right.

Flog the blog

What I didn't do.Crikey! What a week it has been on the blog!

Not only have I gained four beautiful brand new 'followers' -- after begging for them right here on the blog (previous post) -- but I have lost my original, and much nicer settings template, without knowing how!

I was trying to change the colour of my link highlights font to make links stand out more, but it all started unravelling: the layout, the colours, the font, everything! In the end, link font colour was about the only thing I didn't change.

Everything else was radically unfamiliar and different for a while there. Now it's only a little different after I managed to get the original background back. But I lost that twice, saving other changes, so I don't want to risk it again.

That means, I'm afraid, that this insipid version will have to do. It's a blunted and blurred version of the previous design, which seems especially unfair to my newest followers who didn't get to properly experience the better blog design, or perhaps to my regulars who had gotten used to it. But as I said, I'm a complete f''king tech idiot.

SORRY!

Frankly, I'd rather deal with pigeons.

Wrestling with the F-word (followers)

Since my first book was published three weeks ago with this blog address included in the author biography and Amazon profile, I have gained a total of three new 'followers', bringing the titanic tally to nineteen. My viewer stats have increased by a larger degree, an estimated 20-30%, but nobody sees those rather more impressive stats except for my trusty followers -- and me -- at least as far as I can work out. I don't really know what my non-followers (stalkers) see, which might be my first problem.

My Facebook page says I have 83 friends but my paltry follower stats say different. I have ever so gently tried to coax followers from FB 'friends' in the past, but to little or no avail. I don't like to PUSH. It's undignified and desperate.

Also, I am told Blogspot doesn't make it easy to follow (thanks for telling me that three years ago when I got started), and yet those nimble nineteen seem to have managed it without any need to return to university to re-qualify in following.

Of course the word is a major turn-off; 'friends' is clearly a much more persuasive lure -- if ever there were a clever euphemism (!). Still, it's not a blind, sheep-like following to follow an erudite and entertaining, up-to-the-minute-in-all-that-is-hip-and-happening blogger; I know because I follow a few such blogs without feeling the need to ba-aa-aa. Ha-aa-aa but not ba-aa-aa; there's a difference.

This Easter, getting less dignified and more desperate by the minute, I even came out for the cause as Jesus's sister, an identity that although hard to say, and slightly harder to believe, I thought should up my follower numbers some (naught). As a feminist I was not naive enough to think I could match my brother's follower stats (2.8 million trillion), but I had thought some of his followers, perhaps especially the female ones, might be tempted to switch allegiance to a living woman rather than a long-dead man. More fool me.

So now I'm resorting to begging. Next step the crucifix. If you don't wish me to go to those lengths, I ask that you please -- hands held together in prayer-like pose -- consider going through the rigmarole of following OWW. I'm sure it's not as painful as it sounds, and certainly not as painful as crucifixion -- especially for me.    

Thank you and God bless.













  

Coming insideout in sympathy

After some upsetting writing-related news yesterday, I found myself feeling not quite right. I got up in the night, unable to sleep, and put my underpants on insideout. When I later discovered this I left them like that; insideout underpants fit my mood rather well, I decided.

Later, I discovered my jumper had been on insideout all day too, again without my noticing, much less anyone else noticing (all male house mates), though the dark red seams are chunky and knotted like varicose veins. Clearly I hadn't bothered with a mirror.

It's strangely comforting to be insideout, and as it's a lazy bad-weather Saturday, I haven't had to take my insideout self outside yet, which simplifies things for the neighbours.

Still, I wonder about this rash of insideoutness. Although I am a little vague by nature, and frequently upset by this, that and the other, I normally manage to put most items on outside out and inside in. So why two items insideout in one day? Perhaps, I consider, my body knows my brain suffers and is coming out, or rather insideout, in sympathy?

I decide I rather like this idea; it's far preferable to the alternative -- I'm losing my mind, one or two items of clothing at a time, and will soon be resorting to yoga. Ommmmmm...... (or should that be Moooooooo.....).