the little things

My wee little joys of late:

- turning old bottles into vases
- watching Betty White on Conan
- hub treated me to a sims 3 town pack, so I'm a slightly happier nerd
- Daft Punk
- grilled asparagus with olive oil and bragg's
- 30 Rock and Raising Hope episodes on demand
- guided meditation
- Oscar Wilde

Auugh So Much Thinky Time

I spend too much time thinking about the past
-or worrying about the future
-or reliving bad experiences in the hopes that magically, everything will be okay
-or feeling guilty over imagined scenarios
-or fretting that I forgot something or repeated myself due to the ailments
-or apologising for things I have not done
-or waiting for the big bad karma ball to drop from the sky and crush all of the things that I hold dear or have pride in, simply because I think deserve it.

I need to spend more time laughing, loving, forgiving myself and living in the moment.

More Dad

No stroke! Hooray! Possible head trauma induced dementia...hrmm. He's being moved to an inpatient rehabilitation VA hospital, as he's a veteran, and had some med changes which were welcome, in my opinion. He's been a bit off of his game for a long while now and needed a wake up call. Being diabetic is no joke, and watching that one eats regularly is really goddamn helpful if one wants to be healthy and alive.

He'll be at the rehab for a few weeks. We'll sort out his next move in the next week or so, and try to accept that there are certain things we simply cannot do for him here. If I wasn't disabled, it'd be a whole different story! He'd live here, hanging out and drawing with me, or reading together (which is usually when he "rests his eyes" for a long snore-filled snooze). But since I am, there's simply no way to give him the proper care he needs.

With that said, I'm trying to take care of myself (the Long and Winding Cold). Anti-bios, inhaler, mucinex, water water water. Sleep, which isn't working out well at all due to anxiety hamsters and insomnia gerbils. There's a chance I could be getting a gorgeous dollhouse for $20, though, and if that happens I'll be in my own little tiny heaven when I've got spare moments.

Thank you, so very much, to the dearhearts who have been giving me strength. My hub, bro, fam and Fartygirl (who's blog you should be reading). Much love, folks.

Now I'm off to rest, or more likely, play some sims 3. Hub treated me to a new town, and it is all alien all the time, so...veena fredishay!

Yeah...

So my father fell five goddamn times the other night, which led to his hospitalization and subsequent surgery. He is doped up to his eyebrows and has been wonky headed for days now.

At what point do I stop worrying that he had a stroke while he was under? That's how my pop died, almost the same timeline of events.

When will my brain cut off and let me sleep more than a nibble at a time? It would be Very Nice Indeed. My allergies/cold are not helping, but maybe the meds my doctor gave me yesterday will.

I cannot save the world. I cannot save the world. I cannot save the world. I cannot save the world. I cannot save the world. I cannot save the world.

Allergic Thoughts

Okay, so yesterday was bitching about fibromyalgia. There have been (far too) many entries about my knees, my depression, my this and my that, but today's topic is allergies.

Those fuckers.

Waking me up in the wee hours, full of goo and weepy eyes, brain dumbed down - and only getting dumber, thanks to allergy meds - aah, there's nothing quite like it.

The positive part of these sniffly, stuffy, squishy little goblins is that they do distract a bit from the rest of my aches, so I'll not hate them - yet.

Off to climb under the pile of tissues, ta.

Fibromyalgic Ponderings

I've read a lot of articles, books, pamphlets and newsletters about fibromyalgia over the past 13 years, since my brother was diagnosed with it while in the military. When I was diagnosed with it, I cried like a baby with a diaper pin stuck in its ass for a bit, then told my memory to bring up all those facts, theories and piles of advice I'd stored and tell me what to do.

Well, it's been a chunk of years since my medical records had that pesky ol' FMS added, and I can tell you that all of those things I read, those priceless pieces of information to help ease the daily pain are fluttering away in the breeze of my goddamn fibro-fog. I'm stupid more often than not these days, can't concentrate to save a baby duckling's life, the depression is creeping back...man, fuck this shit. If this is, indeed, the worst case of fms my docs have ever seen, then someone had better come up with a fucking cure that does not contain fucking lactose with the quickness.

I'm bitching, I know, but that is what this bloggyblog is for; just look up at the page's name if you don't believe me.

You know the dumbest part? I don't even remember what I came on here to post about in the first place.

(And no, it was not about the stupid day of cheap wine and apologetic roses. I hate this fucking "holiday".)

Oh! I remember. I'm pissed because the symptoms of my fms are so fucking fuckled that it is seemingly impossible for my doctors to get any other sort of diagnosis to happen.

There. I remembered. High five to me.

Now I'm going to get off of this computer and do something constructive that won't hurt.