The shape of things to come
I go give my last (hopefully my last) sacrifice of blood and urine tomorrow (I swear they must have a whole shelf with my name on it by now). And then an Ultrasound on Friday. A woman's exam next Friday. And then we're pretty much done. I'm going to do the sleep study, but it's not really a necessity, more icing on the cake of disaster. We're all pretty confident that the diagnosis we have is correct. I've been doing a lot of reading on the subject and while I know I'll be in treatment the rest of my life and I'll actually have to do things like eat vegetables and cut out evening caffeine (which still sends chills down my spine)...I'm almost done with the self pitying thing and ready to move on to the let's just get this rolling thing. Which is not to say that I don't flip back and forth on a semi-frequent basis. But I think that's only human. And I've learned that if I try to be superwoman and pretend this doesn't bother me and that just because some people have it worse, I don't even deserve to be bothered by this at all, well...that has not worked out well for me in the past. I know that sometimes I'm going to feel really bad; emotionally , physically or both, and I'm just going to have to let myself feel it, maybe wallow in it a bit. "This too shall pass" and things will get better again. It's just the way things go.
I've been slowly but surely rising to the level of a (semi) grown up lately. Mildly frightening, it is. The whole paying bills a month in advance, contributing to my 401K, direct depositing into my savings account before I find a perfectly good pair of shoes to blow that 3% of my income on.....now I just have to master the Martha Stewartness I know is hiding somewhere deep (deep, deep) down inside of me. The first task is mastering the bedroom; that ever growing mountain of laundry on the floor, along with the tubs of laundry and shoes in the closet, the tubs of shoes and clothes that need to be fixed...oh yes...it is a mighty task indeed. Then we move to the craft room of doom which is honestly nothing more than a shamble of this and thats strewn about with no semblance of order and no view of the actual floor (there is a floor in there, I'm sure of it...at least I know I saw it when I moved in....) One day at a time, I suppose.
I recently set up something akin to a home studio in my apartment. It's a really nice distraction and something I've been wanting to, but never knew how, for so very long. I have a somewhat complex music program (although software is no match for me, it will eventually bow to my will!), along with a sweet microphone and stand, headphones, and the most beautiful and amazing brand spanking new Casio keyboard. It has, I am convinced, every sound in the world in it. Even better (this is my favorite part) it has chords already built in to the left side. AMAZING! I can play a major chord with one finger. It's so very cheating, but I never claimed to be a musician. I just want to learn some songs, get a feeling for it, and eventually learn enough to write my own music. And then sing it. And then layer in a harmony. And then a drum beat...and on and on we go. It's a nice, productive, creative outlet for me and I'm enjoying it. I can almost play "Yesterday" without sounding like a five year old throwing eggs at the keys and just hoping it comes out right. That is success right there.
And now...to tackle the kitchen. My "healthy living" kick of actually doing that thing called "cooking" is pretty cool. But I have not yet worked out the cleaning thereafter...and I think something might be growing in my sink. I just hope it doesn't bite me. That means shots, and I've been poked enough this week, thank you very much.
It's good to be back.
I've been slowly but surely rising to the level of a (semi) grown up lately. Mildly frightening, it is. The whole paying bills a month in advance, contributing to my 401K, direct depositing into my savings account before I find a perfectly good pair of shoes to blow that 3% of my income on.....now I just have to master the Martha Stewartness I know is hiding somewhere deep (deep, deep) down inside of me. The first task is mastering the bedroom; that ever growing mountain of laundry on the floor, along with the tubs of laundry and shoes in the closet, the tubs of shoes and clothes that need to be fixed...oh yes...it is a mighty task indeed. Then we move to the craft room of doom which is honestly nothing more than a shamble of this and thats strewn about with no semblance of order and no view of the actual floor (there is a floor in there, I'm sure of it...at least I know I saw it when I moved in....) One day at a time, I suppose.
I recently set up something akin to a home studio in my apartment. It's a really nice distraction and something I've been wanting to, but never knew how, for so very long. I have a somewhat complex music program (although software is no match for me, it will eventually bow to my will!), along with a sweet microphone and stand, headphones, and the most beautiful and amazing brand spanking new Casio keyboard. It has, I am convinced, every sound in the world in it. Even better (this is my favorite part) it has chords already built in to the left side. AMAZING! I can play a major chord with one finger. It's so very cheating, but I never claimed to be a musician. I just want to learn some songs, get a feeling for it, and eventually learn enough to write my own music. And then sing it. And then layer in a harmony. And then a drum beat...and on and on we go. It's a nice, productive, creative outlet for me and I'm enjoying it. I can almost play "Yesterday" without sounding like a five year old throwing eggs at the keys and just hoping it comes out right. That is success right there.
And now...to tackle the kitchen. My "healthy living" kick of actually doing that thing called "cooking" is pretty cool. But I have not yet worked out the cleaning thereafter...and I think something might be growing in my sink. I just hope it doesn't bite me. That means shots, and I've been poked enough this week, thank you very much.
It's good to be back.