Usually at this time of the morning, I'm dressed for work and getting ready to go. But since we're enjoying a pea-soup fog, I'm waiting until it's vaguely daylight outside.
Cousin Karen Update
I've been thinking about this hard, the whole situation. I realized that part of my initial enthusiasm in lending a hand was selfish. I have a hard time admitting when I'm lonely. It's just background noise at this point. I remembered that it doesn't take much for my gregariousness quota to be full. I'm not sure this would work on a long-term basis.
I also realized that my Cousin Danny is legally her next of kin. So I started texting him the other day. He sounded far more rational than she did. (It's not her fault.) He sounded fairly confident about the loss mitigation/mediation program they're going through, but I got no other details. I haven't been able to reach him to actually speak to him.
----------------
Emma Update
Emma had been ill for over a week, unable to keep anything down. When I talked to her Monday evening, she sounded like she was at death's door. Sven was at home, so I told her to get dressed and let Sven take her to the tiny emergency room they have in Podunkville. Astoundingly, she did. They gave her IV fluids and sent her home with anti-barf meds.
---------------
Boris Update
Friends, he is slowing down. He's no longer grooming himself, but he still has an appetite and still loves to cuddle. He has a jones for Whiskas Temptations. He likes to get brushed. So he gets all of these things in abundance.
Everyone else is A-OK, although I suspect Dylan has arthritis in his front paws. It's hard to realize that the youngest one, Blue is 10 this year. And kind of scary, too.
-------------
Me Update
I'm tired of being tired. I'm very grateful for finally achieving a balanced mood, but the balance has to be carefully watched, all the time. One side effect of all of these drugs is to make me sleepy and/or fatigued. By the time I get home, I'm lucky to pour a bowl of cereal for myself and dole out cat food for the kitties. I get into my jammies, watch a movie, and fall into bed.
There has to be and is a better way. It's all very simple. I need to make myself a cup of coffee around 3 - 4 p.m. Good coffee, not that in-the-office bile. And while I normally take coffee black, in the afternoons it has to have some 1/2 & 1/2 in it. This is sketchy at work, although the company graciously provides milk and 1/2 & 1/2. I go in at 9 am and the fridge is full. I go in at 3 pm to the kitchen and there's 1/4 of an inch of skim milk left. The easy and rational solution is for me to take my own but disguise it so no one will think she can "borrow" it and no one will mind.
There is a serious misunderstanding at work of what's yours and what's mine, especially when it comes to the contents of the refrigerator. And if this is the biggest problem I have at work, I am truly blessed.
I have projects and things I want to accomplish at home but I'm getting exactly nowhere with them because all I do at home is sleep. At this point, I doubt Cousin Karen will come to live with me, but I still want to sort out the house. It's needed sorting for a couple of years now and I want to do it. Before, I didn't care but for some reason (head meds?) I care now. I see what needs to be done, have a reasonable plan in place for doing it, but when I lift a hand, it's usually to change into my pajamas. Wake up, Becs, wake up!
Showing posts with label exhaustion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exhaustion. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Blursday
A Day Without Rosy is like...
A day when I get work done. Seriously.
Because she got there first at Big Finance, she got the choice part of the cubicle. Now that she is gone, I spent the first half hour at work switching my PC and phone to the choice part of the cubicle. And then I got work done.
Yesterday was sad. Every time I looked at her, I thought, no more Rosy. People always say they'll stay in touch, but you lose sight of each other.
----
Why It's Good to Have A Neighbor With Kids
Because I can walk away from the quarter watermelons for $5, instead buy a whole one for $4, split it in half and give the rest to my neighbor.
----
Things I Can Eat Until My Belly Hurts
Watermelon
Butter chicken with fresh buttered naan
Papri chaat
Good chicken & dumplings
Pad Thai
Pie
Cake
Kozy Shack Rice Pudding
----------
Our Tricksy Brains
Our brains are very tricksy things, they are. Oh, they try to help us, but it's all a trick.
I'm reading What The Internet Is Doing to Our Brains: The Shallows. I try not to think about my brain because I'm just waiting for it to go all "the station is off the air".
Apparently, our brains are plastic and elastic. But, of course, in a tricky way.
Hm. Let me work hard to find an analogy. Let's say that instead of driving my car to work, I have to roller skate instead. My brain will work on setting me up so that I get very, very good at roller skating. And after a year of roller skating, my skating skills are breath-taking, as are my mighty thighs, but I can't drive worth a damn. My depth perception, my perception of speed, my acknowledging of potential road hazards are now all screwed up. And it would take me a long time to acquire my old car driving skills.
Hm. Not quite what I wanted to get across.
Let's say that when I was seven, I had rheumatic fever. That the adults around me were so scared that permanent damage would be done to my heart that they tiptoed around me. My activities at school are severely curtailed. When I get home from school, I go straight to bed. People whisper about how scared they are that I'll have a heart attack.
When the danger is passed and I'm pronounced healthy, my brain is still so stuck in the pattern of seeing myself as ill that the perception is almost impossible to move around.
Your brain is not necessarily your friend. But you can work it. In fact, you should work it, and hard.
It's a good book.
------------
I Condole You
I have received a surprising number of sympathy cards on Katy's passing. Her ashes are still in my car. I need to nag myself a little harder about bringing her inside.
I miss her every day. I still have passwords set up using various nicknames I gave her over the course of her life.
The people in the "Safe Haven" program told me that when I sent in a description of Katy, I described her as the queen of the household. And for about five years, she was.
Now that crown has been passed on to that Richard III of cats, Taylor. She cracks me up at least once every day and I fiercely love her general pissyness. She won't take anything off anybody. Even when no one is giving her anything.
I was sorting through an area where I have leashes and I came across Katy's harness that I used to take her outside. I didn't do that for so long. I feel guilty about it.
And I feel guilty about not playing with and generally adoring the cats that I have.
I'm still stuck on the pause button. All I want to do is sleep. And eat watermelon. Which reminds me, I should make sure I've got a clear path between where I'm sleeping and the smallest room in the house tonight.
I love watermelon.
A day when I get work done. Seriously.
Because she got there first at Big Finance, she got the choice part of the cubicle. Now that she is gone, I spent the first half hour at work switching my PC and phone to the choice part of the cubicle. And then I got work done.
Yesterday was sad. Every time I looked at her, I thought, no more Rosy. People always say they'll stay in touch, but you lose sight of each other.
----
Why It's Good to Have A Neighbor With Kids
Because I can walk away from the quarter watermelons for $5, instead buy a whole one for $4, split it in half and give the rest to my neighbor.
----
Things I Can Eat Until My Belly Hurts
Watermelon
Butter chicken with fresh buttered naan
Papri chaat
Good chicken & dumplings
Pad Thai
Pie
Cake
Kozy Shack Rice Pudding
----------
Our Tricksy Brains
Our brains are very tricksy things, they are. Oh, they try to help us, but it's all a trick.
I'm reading What The Internet Is Doing to Our Brains: The Shallows. I try not to think about my brain because I'm just waiting for it to go all "the station is off the air".
Apparently, our brains are plastic and elastic. But, of course, in a tricky way.
Hm. Let me work hard to find an analogy. Let's say that instead of driving my car to work, I have to roller skate instead. My brain will work on setting me up so that I get very, very good at roller skating. And after a year of roller skating, my skating skills are breath-taking, as are my mighty thighs, but I can't drive worth a damn. My depth perception, my perception of speed, my acknowledging of potential road hazards are now all screwed up. And it would take me a long time to acquire my old car driving skills.
Hm. Not quite what I wanted to get across.
Let's say that when I was seven, I had rheumatic fever. That the adults around me were so scared that permanent damage would be done to my heart that they tiptoed around me. My activities at school are severely curtailed. When I get home from school, I go straight to bed. People whisper about how scared they are that I'll have a heart attack.
When the danger is passed and I'm pronounced healthy, my brain is still so stuck in the pattern of seeing myself as ill that the perception is almost impossible to move around.
Your brain is not necessarily your friend. But you can work it. In fact, you should work it, and hard.
It's a good book.
------------
I Condole You
I have received a surprising number of sympathy cards on Katy's passing. Her ashes are still in my car. I need to nag myself a little harder about bringing her inside.
I miss her every day. I still have passwords set up using various nicknames I gave her over the course of her life.
The people in the "Safe Haven" program told me that when I sent in a description of Katy, I described her as the queen of the household. And for about five years, she was.
Now that crown has been passed on to that Richard III of cats, Taylor. She cracks me up at least once every day and I fiercely love her general pissyness. She won't take anything off anybody. Even when no one is giving her anything.
I was sorting through an area where I have leashes and I came across Katy's harness that I used to take her outside. I didn't do that for so long. I feel guilty about it.
And I feel guilty about not playing with and generally adoring the cats that I have.
I'm still stuck on the pause button. All I want to do is sleep. And eat watermelon. Which reminds me, I should make sure I've got a clear path between where I'm sleeping and the smallest room in the house tonight.
I love watermelon.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Cumulative Effects
Yes, I know I'm depressed. Yes, I have an appointment today with my psychopharmacologist, aka, my shrink.
Yesterday was hard. I realized that I am not over Katy's death and I am not over Phoebe's death. The Taylor scare was almost a direct hit on her scrawny hide and if I didn't have her to press to my heart now, would be in another tally column.
I realized last night and this morning that I have had a lot of unpleasant things happen to me that I've yet to recover from. Part of this is because I've been in a battlefield situation for the past 11 years. I'll spare myself and everyone else the fact that this has been going on since, oh, 1956.
And I also just realized that I don't want to do a year-by-year toting up of the sad, bad stuff. It's sufficient (and avoidant behavior) to say that a lot of bad stuff has happened and I haven't had time to recover from one bad thing when another bad thing bounces its way into my cave like a hand grenade.
I only know that it has left me sad and exhausted.
Along with the grenades jumping around like Mexican jumping beans, I have to deal with the fact that Everyone's Gone to the Moon is a way of life for me at certain times of the year. I think it's fair to say at this point in my life, I will not suddenly become Miss or even Ms. Popularity and will have to sit in my boudoir with my morning chocolate fetched by my maid, creasing my pretty little forehead with worry over which invitation I will accept. EGttM days are hard on me. I thought I had prepared for this one, but it didn't work out that way. And I didn't have the emotional wherewithal to pull together a Plan B.
I know that if another grenade gets tossed into the cave, I'll deal with it. It's what I usually do. Only I have to figure out a better way of dealing with them than throwing myself on them, belly-down. Throwing them out of the cave doesn't seem to be an option.
I realize this sounds like it's out of self-pity, but it is actually a question. Asked of the universe (silent, as usual) and God (silent, as usual), but I wonder when I'll get a break. Worse yet is the thought that maybe I've had a break. That I'm having one now and not a psychotic break. That would require too much energy and the tank is on E at the moment.
When I consider breaks I would like (right now I'm thinking of a massage in a glass-windowed room overlooking the prow of an ocean liner in the Caribbean), I realize how unlikely they are.
Then I go off to brush my teeth, take a shower, and go to work. And be grateful that I have a job to go to.
I think that overall, this stuff is going to add up and become its own grenade. And it's going to be one big motherfucker.
Ever the optimist, c'est moi.
Yesterday was hard. I realized that I am not over Katy's death and I am not over Phoebe's death. The Taylor scare was almost a direct hit on her scrawny hide and if I didn't have her to press to my heart now, would be in another tally column.
I realized last night and this morning that I have had a lot of unpleasant things happen to me that I've yet to recover from. Part of this is because I've been in a battlefield situation for the past 11 years. I'll spare myself and everyone else the fact that this has been going on since, oh, 1956.
And I also just realized that I don't want to do a year-by-year toting up of the sad, bad stuff. It's sufficient (and avoidant behavior) to say that a lot of bad stuff has happened and I haven't had time to recover from one bad thing when another bad thing bounces its way into my cave like a hand grenade.
I only know that it has left me sad and exhausted.
Along with the grenades jumping around like Mexican jumping beans, I have to deal with the fact that Everyone's Gone to the Moon is a way of life for me at certain times of the year. I think it's fair to say at this point in my life, I will not suddenly become Miss or even Ms. Popularity and will have to sit in my boudoir with my morning chocolate fetched by my maid, creasing my pretty little forehead with worry over which invitation I will accept. EGttM days are hard on me. I thought I had prepared for this one, but it didn't work out that way. And I didn't have the emotional wherewithal to pull together a Plan B.
I know that if another grenade gets tossed into the cave, I'll deal with it. It's what I usually do. Only I have to figure out a better way of dealing with them than throwing myself on them, belly-down. Throwing them out of the cave doesn't seem to be an option.
I realize this sounds like it's out of self-pity, but it is actually a question. Asked of the universe (silent, as usual) and God (silent, as usual), but I wonder when I'll get a break. Worse yet is the thought that maybe I've had a break. That I'm having one now and not a psychotic break. That would require too much energy and the tank is on E at the moment.
When I consider breaks I would like (right now I'm thinking of a massage in a glass-windowed room overlooking the prow of an ocean liner in the Caribbean), I realize how unlikely they are.
Then I go off to brush my teeth, take a shower, and go to work. And be grateful that I have a job to go to.
I think that overall, this stuff is going to add up and become its own grenade. And it's going to be one big motherfucker.
Ever the optimist, c'est moi.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
The Body is Annoyingly Weak
Last night, I put together the cubby shelves that I bought from IKEA. And this morning was very annoyed that I could not lift the thing up by myself. I needed at least two strong men. And then two others could lift the shelves up. Ahem.
No. Actually, this would be the point where I got my cray-cray on. I know that near Favorite Bagel Shop, there's a paint store and that's where Los Amigos hang out every day, waiting for work. I was actually half way there before I began to question the wisdom of it.
Girlfriend, I said to myself. Are you cray-cray?
It didn't matter. Los Amigos either had their assignment for the day or they were taking the time off like every other sane person. Mexicans go to the moon, too, I suppose.
By the time I had downed a venti hazelnut coffee, I thought, well, the house is so desperate for attention, I can clean around the cubby shelves and wait until Stash and Stash Jr. return home. I can put the house into order and not be ashamed when they come in.
I have cleaned about one-third of the kitchen. It has taken me two hours. I find I have to break frequently and this annoys me, too.
Where has Big Strong Woman gone? That was me. Where did she go? Come back. You are needed.
I had big plans on how clean I was going to get this house, but I think I need to reassess those plans.
At least the IKEA shelves served a the jump-start I've been needing for a very long time now.
There are shiny things in the kitchen now. It's nice.
No. Actually, this would be the point where I got my cray-cray on. I know that near Favorite Bagel Shop, there's a paint store and that's where Los Amigos hang out every day, waiting for work. I was actually half way there before I began to question the wisdom of it.
Girlfriend, I said to myself. Are you cray-cray?
It didn't matter. Los Amigos either had their assignment for the day or they were taking the time off like every other sane person. Mexicans go to the moon, too, I suppose.
By the time I had downed a venti hazelnut coffee, I thought, well, the house is so desperate for attention, I can clean around the cubby shelves and wait until Stash and Stash Jr. return home. I can put the house into order and not be ashamed when they come in.
I have cleaned about one-third of the kitchen. It has taken me two hours. I find I have to break frequently and this annoys me, too.
Where has Big Strong Woman gone? That was me. Where did she go? Come back. You are needed.
I had big plans on how clean I was going to get this house, but I think I need to reassess those plans.
At least the IKEA shelves served a the jump-start I've been needing for a very long time now.
There are shiny things in the kitchen now. It's nice.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Hey! I Like This Health Insurance Thing!
My first day on insurance. I went to get a couple of prescriptions filled. What would have cost me $25 ended up costing my $7. Pretty nice.
But then...then I asked about The Pricey Prescription - then one I had paid $130 for one month's supply. It's $24. I mean. Wow.
And I can probably go for a couple of routine tests I've put off for years and years. Totally awesome, health insurance.
My Brain on Drugs
We all know by now, I think, that my brain does much better with drugs than without. And, it would seem, the more, the better.
I tried two days of reducing one of my (three!) antidepressants. It's supposed to help me sleep, it does help me sleep, but I also wondered if it was the cause of my five hour naps. I didn't fall asleep yesterday, but I wouldn't be surprised if there had been a micro-nap on my way to work today. As it was, I sat in the car in one of OP's many scenic parking lots, watching the sun rise over the valley, the car all snug and a man's sonorous voice reading "The Amber Room" on CD. And I fell sound asleep. Luckily, I woke up ten minutes later and rushed into work.
I spent the day in the huddle room by myself. Chopra has ditched me. I talk too much. Anyway, I've got a huddle room all to myself. But while I was editing a 70+ page document, I thought - St. Sebastian on a spit! Here, all you Indians:
the the the the the the the the the The The The A A A A A a a a a a a a An An An An An an an an an
Also:
. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ....................................
and/or and/or and/or and/or and/or
, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Insert randomly! At will! But in the name of all that is dear, please, please start using them. Putting a term in a glossary is NOT defining it.
And then I realized, I really do need to start taking all of my drugs in their normal strengths.
And now I'm going to eat a bowl of oatmeal, get into my pjs and watch a move, some movie, whatever movie. Oy.
But then...then I asked about The Pricey Prescription - then one I had paid $130 for one month's supply. It's $24. I mean. Wow.
And I can probably go for a couple of routine tests I've put off for years and years. Totally awesome, health insurance.
My Brain on Drugs
We all know by now, I think, that my brain does much better with drugs than without. And, it would seem, the more, the better.
I tried two days of reducing one of my (three!) antidepressants. It's supposed to help me sleep, it does help me sleep, but I also wondered if it was the cause of my five hour naps. I didn't fall asleep yesterday, but I wouldn't be surprised if there had been a micro-nap on my way to work today. As it was, I sat in the car in one of OP's many scenic parking lots, watching the sun rise over the valley, the car all snug and a man's sonorous voice reading "The Amber Room" on CD. And I fell sound asleep. Luckily, I woke up ten minutes later and rushed into work.
I spent the day in the huddle room by myself. Chopra has ditched me. I talk too much. Anyway, I've got a huddle room all to myself. But while I was editing a 70+ page document, I thought - St. Sebastian on a spit! Here, all you Indians:
the the the the the the the the the The The The A A A A A a a a a a a a An An An An An an an an an
Also:
. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ....................................
and/or and/or and/or and/or and/or
, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Insert randomly! At will! But in the name of all that is dear, please, please start using them. Putting a term in a glossary is NOT defining it.
And then I realized, I really do need to start taking all of my drugs in their normal strengths.
And now I'm going to eat a bowl of oatmeal, get into my pjs and watch a move, some movie, whatever movie. Oy.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Thar She Blows
Dr. Yeow has frequently warned me to look out for manic episodes. I think he thought I was having one.
I don't want to say he's right, but at the moment, I'm feeling pretty low.
I got another love letter from Wells Fargo. This one said that I could put off paying my mortgage payment until Jan 10, 2010. Then everything would be due - three months of back mortgage payments PLUS late fees.
What f*ing saints.
And someone kept telling me they don't want my house?
And it turns out - it really does turn out - that I was making more money on unemployment than I am now.
I have been pushed and pushed and pushed and now I can't be pushed any further. Not unless someone comes and takes me where I've fallen down in a heap and bodily throws me off the precipice.
I've been crying and crying. The stupid cow at Wells Fargo kept saying, "You have to make more money and reduce your expenses to get into another program." And I kept saying, "How much more and how much less?" And she kept saying, "But that doesn't give us a true picture of your situation."
And finally, sobbing, I hung up.
I'm going to take some clonazepam. And maybe when I wake up, things won't feel so f*ing horrible.
I don't want to say he's right, but at the moment, I'm feeling pretty low.
I got another love letter from Wells Fargo. This one said that I could put off paying my mortgage payment until Jan 10, 2010. Then everything would be due - three months of back mortgage payments PLUS late fees.
What f*ing saints.
And someone kept telling me they don't want my house?
And it turns out - it really does turn out - that I was making more money on unemployment than I am now.
I have been pushed and pushed and pushed and now I can't be pushed any further. Not unless someone comes and takes me where I've fallen down in a heap and bodily throws me off the precipice.
I've been crying and crying. The stupid cow at Wells Fargo kept saying, "You have to make more money and reduce your expenses to get into another program." And I kept saying, "How much more and how much less?" And she kept saying, "But that doesn't give us a true picture of your situation."
And finally, sobbing, I hung up.
I'm going to take some clonazepam. And maybe when I wake up, things won't feel so f*ing horrible.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Saturday Miscellany
Buyer's Exhaustion
I've heard of buyer's regret, but never buyer's exhaustion. I went to the bank today to pick up the check for Monday's trip to the car dealership. I came out of the loan office and nearly fell to my knees with exhaustion.
It came from nowhere. It hit me from behind. It was all I could do to crawl to the Faithful Camry and strap myself in.
Yes, I did manage to meander around Borders for about an hour, but after that, I realized any further attempt to check off the to-do list would be in vain.
I came home. I am about to go collapse on the couch.
So, Snow Already!
What is going on? The end of January and no measurable precipitation for the season in central Jersey? What? I'm waiting. I'm not ready, of course, because for unknown reasons I am unable to drag a 50 lb bag of ice melter up the stairs. (That's why there are tubs of cat litter at the foot of my back porch. 40 lb tubs of cat litter. I have turned into a weakling but am too tired to do much about it.)
Snow, already. Snow, dammit! Snow. Go ahead. We're all waiting. Just snow. Dump those 25" on us. Do it. You know you want to.
I triple dog dare you.
The Many Mysteries of Life
I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to afford this car payment. I guess I'll find out in a month. In the meantime, adieu, Coffee Heaven. Well, when Anon Boy's Xmas gift card runs out. Adieu, Starbucks. No more $4 mochas for me.
For all the feints I've made at various austerity programs, this one is the real deal.
I've heard of buyer's regret, but never buyer's exhaustion. I went to the bank today to pick up the check for Monday's trip to the car dealership. I came out of the loan office and nearly fell to my knees with exhaustion.
It came from nowhere. It hit me from behind. It was all I could do to crawl to the Faithful Camry and strap myself in.
Yes, I did manage to meander around Borders for about an hour, but after that, I realized any further attempt to check off the to-do list would be in vain.
I came home. I am about to go collapse on the couch.
So, Snow Already!
What is going on? The end of January and no measurable precipitation for the season in central Jersey? What? I'm waiting. I'm not ready, of course, because for unknown reasons I am unable to drag a 50 lb bag of ice melter up the stairs. (That's why there are tubs of cat litter at the foot of my back porch. 40 lb tubs of cat litter. I have turned into a weakling but am too tired to do much about it.)
Snow, already. Snow, dammit! Snow. Go ahead. We're all waiting. Just snow. Dump those 25" on us. Do it. You know you want to.
I triple dog dare you.
The Many Mysteries of Life
I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to afford this car payment. I guess I'll find out in a month. In the meantime, adieu, Coffee Heaven. Well, when Anon Boy's Xmas gift card runs out. Adieu, Starbucks. No more $4 mochas for me.
For all the feints I've made at various austerity programs, this one is the real deal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)