Dangerous spider bites (infographic)

I am afraid of spiders. It’s a phobia. It’s a family joke. It’s something that defies logic and wisdom.

With that knowledge I share this infographic, letting me know which spiders are actually dangerous and which aren’t. (Even though, in my mind, they all are.)

Dangerous U.S. Spider Bites Guide

Explore more infographics like this one on the web’s largest information design community – Visually.

 

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In pain

OpenClips / Pixabay

The past few days have been marked by overwhelming and consistent pain in my lower back. It hasn’t been this bad in years. I’ve been trying to minimize it with a combination of over-the-counter muscle relaxers and pain killers, but that’s not working. Will need to go to the doctor’s office for real medicine, and a diagnosis on what caused the pain. I didn’t do anything, just woke up one day unable to straighten up. And the pain seems to be getting worse every day. Lovely.

Image source: OpenClips / Pixabay

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A nervous tic

2014.02 eyeI can see my heartbeat… in my right eyelid. More accurately, my eyelid is fluttering to the tune of my heartbeat, showing me my pulse. If I place my finger lightly over it, I can feel it and count it out.

It’s annoying as hell.

This started a few months ago. At first it was once in a few days. Now it’s a few times a day.

I have a nervous tic. WTF???!!!

I read up and “pulsation of the lid it is usually due to stress, fatigue and caffeine intake.” Lovely. I’m not going to reduce my caffeine intake (it’s in the best interest of the safety of the world that that not happen), and my stress isn’t going away. Fatigue… maybe I can do something about fatigue. More sleep would probably be a good thing.

And my eyelid continues doing this fluttery thing… pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse. It doesn’t hurt, but it distracts me. That’s all I needed, one more thing to distract me, one more irritant.

Pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse. In the middle of meetings, as I try to edit videos, while I was recording a TV interview, while trying to focus and take photos… pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse.

Have I mentioned that God hates me?

A good daughter… and a bad daughter

2014.02 heartI got tired of being subtle… I volunteered to take my mother to see her mother. I can’t say the words, “You need to see your mother in case the worst happens.” I can’t tell her that she needs to see her mother before she dies, in case she dies. The words just will not erupt from my mouth. There’s a kind of block between what I want to say and the words themselves.

A visit to my mother’s hometown is not on my list of things I want to do. I am well acquainted with my inner selfish tendencies; I have long since accepted my inner voice. In this case it’s telling me that the timing is all wrong… I won’t enjoy the visit at all… I don’t have close emotional ties to that part of my family… I can’t afford the trip… I will be the only person there to provide emotional support (which isn’t my best thing)… I know, in advance I know, that I’m going to regret the trip.

The list of things running through my mind is endless. I hear each and every reason why I don’t want to go, very clearly. I just don’t say them out loud.

It was my idea. I’ve known for weeks that this trip has to happen. I’ve known that my mother won’t go on her own, that I can’t send her by herself. I know that I have to make sure that she goes. I volunteered. It was my idea.

I’m not a bad person for acknowledging that I don’t want to make the trip. But I never considered not making it. I never thought even for a moment that I wouldn’t go. I always knew that I was going to make this trip.

There is a part of me that knows that I want to make the trip for me too… in case the worst happens.

The “C” Word

2014.02 heartMy mother finally said the word out loud. We’ve been skirting around it, as if by not saying it we could make it less real. We’ve been using other words, softer words, words that don’t sound so final and so harsh, but we both knew what we were thinking.

“Your grandmother’s cancer is spreading,” she said. “She’s in a lot of pain.”

So far what I know is that my grandmother is in the hospital, being “observed.” They don’t know how serious it is. They don’t know exactly what next steps are. They don’t know what the options are.

We do know she’s in pain. We do know that the growth is growing.

I’ve been nudging my mother, pushing her towards a trip to see her mother. It’s at tricky conversation. I can’t really push, or she’ll refuse to go because I tried to make her go. I can’t neglect to ask because then she’ll (later) say that I didn’t want her to go.

I don’t want her to wait too long.

In the meanwhile, I get these vague text messages from my mother with updates. And I call her for explanations which she gives, grudgingly. An hour later I get yet another text message. She’s giving me info one drop at a time.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t understand what my role is supposed to be in this.

And I am truly worried that, while I figure it out, I’m screwing things up.

A lunch dilemma

2014.01 lunch bagI was good today and brought my lunch to work. Brown-bag lunches are part of an attempt to keep my diet regulated and my budget under control. That is, I eat better and spend less money if I bring my lunch instead of going out to buy it.

I don’t want what I brought.

This happens frequently. I go to the trouble of packing a lunch, then when I eat it it’s boring or I just don’t want it. It’s the reality of being an emotional eater. I usually pick what I eat based on how I’m feeling. How I feel the night before, when I pack the lunch, is never how I feel when it’s lunchtime.

I’m just weird.

The good news is that, as a result, I never finish my lunch. The bad news is that by dinnertime I am starving.

I just can’t win.

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