But how are you at canasta?!
I am making a valiant effort in the direction of Taking Care of Myself.
Today, I went to the doctor to ask for drugs so I won't fall asleep at my desk anymore. She listened -- she really listened! she's an awesome doctor -- and said it sounded like I had an hypoactive thyroid, and had me give them some blood samples. So I should hear back on Wednesday about that. She said that it's really easy to manage with really easy drugs. It actually gave me some hope that I might be able to be a normal person again instead of a zombie.
(Also at the doctor's I discovered that I have put on more than 15 pounds since I moved here. That's more than I've ever gained in this short a span of time before; in fact it's more than I've ever gained as part of anything other than, you know, growing up. I'd been basically the same weight since high school, and now I weigh more than I ever have by a good ten pounds. And I know perfectly well that it's because I have a car now and I live in a neighborhood where it's not really safe to walk anywhere, but that doesn't really make me okay with it. And before everyone gets all "you're not fat" on me, I know I'm not fat. I'm still pretty easily within the BMI's "normal" range. But I don't feel healthy, I don't feel strong, and I feel like my body is out of my control between the weight and the exhaustion.)
I bought glasses on Saturday, which should be ready by the weekend. They're going to be very cute, I think; I will post pictures. Yes, they're bifocals -- well, they're actually progressives, which don't look like bifocals but are -- but I'm over it.
Tomorrow I call the dentist and keep going down the list of therapists. I've called every female psychologist within a ten-mile radius and none are taking new patients; my choices now are either move outside that radius or go to a social worker who works as a therapist. I think I'm going to go with the commute; I've been to four social workers working as therapists, and all of them were completely useless. I've gotten more therapeutic insight talking to the bathroom mirror. I'm sorry if it makes me a snob, but I need a mental health professional who knows more about psychology than I do, and a bachelor's degree in social work just isn't going to cut it.
Oh! also, I'm starting a horror blog. Well, I've written one entry. We'll see if it develops or dies on the vine. Obviously it's still under construction, but you can check it out if you like. The title is the line with which Nancy, the heroine of Nightmare on Elm Street and one of the all-time ass-kicking final girls, declares that she is not going to wait for the bastard to come for her, she will not be a victim. I like it.
Today, I went to the doctor to ask for drugs so I won't fall asleep at my desk anymore. She listened -- she really listened! she's an awesome doctor -- and said it sounded like I had an hypoactive thyroid, and had me give them some blood samples. So I should hear back on Wednesday about that. She said that it's really easy to manage with really easy drugs. It actually gave me some hope that I might be able to be a normal person again instead of a zombie.
(Also at the doctor's I discovered that I have put on more than 15 pounds since I moved here. That's more than I've ever gained in this short a span of time before; in fact it's more than I've ever gained as part of anything other than, you know, growing up. I'd been basically the same weight since high school, and now I weigh more than I ever have by a good ten pounds. And I know perfectly well that it's because I have a car now and I live in a neighborhood where it's not really safe to walk anywhere, but that doesn't really make me okay with it. And before everyone gets all "you're not fat" on me, I know I'm not fat. I'm still pretty easily within the BMI's "normal" range. But I don't feel healthy, I don't feel strong, and I feel like my body is out of my control between the weight and the exhaustion.)
I bought glasses on Saturday, which should be ready by the weekend. They're going to be very cute, I think; I will post pictures. Yes, they're bifocals -- well, they're actually progressives, which don't look like bifocals but are -- but I'm over it.
Tomorrow I call the dentist and keep going down the list of therapists. I've called every female psychologist within a ten-mile radius and none are taking new patients; my choices now are either move outside that radius or go to a social worker who works as a therapist. I think I'm going to go with the commute; I've been to four social workers working as therapists, and all of them were completely useless. I've gotten more therapeutic insight talking to the bathroom mirror. I'm sorry if it makes me a snob, but I need a mental health professional who knows more about psychology than I do, and a bachelor's degree in social work just isn't going to cut it.
Oh! also, I'm starting a horror blog. Well, I've written one entry. We'll see if it develops or dies on the vine. Obviously it's still under construction, but you can check it out if you like. The title is the line with which Nancy, the heroine of Nightmare on Elm Street and one of the all-time ass-kicking final girls, declares that she is not going to wait for the bastard to come for her, she will not be a victim. I like it.