[Anguished Look.] Beware, effluvient bitching ahead.
Hmm, I think I made up "effluvient." It's not on www.m-w.com though "effluvia" is.
Strange day. I went to Target yesterday, and got a mishmash of things we needed (since I broke the coffee pot on Sunday). It was raining when I got home so I didn't notice until this morning that I didn't get everything I paid for. I was missing two red melamine serving trays at ten bucks a pop. I kind of expected to fight at Target, because they didn't have my items written in the "paid for and left" log, but they let me look to see if someone had put them back on the shelf. There were only two trays on the shelf to begin with, so when I found them there again I surmised that they were mine and they let me have them. At least that went well.
I'm applying for jobs, which prompts me to answer unknown callers on my cell phone, but instead of an employer, I got the doctor's office. I went in last week to have blood drawn due to my recurring acid problems, meaning that they're testing me AGAIN for H. pylori since I'm new to Kaiser insurance and they don't trust my old doctor. Instead of nasty acid-causing bacteria they found a slightly elevated fasting blood sugar level. Crap. That means I could be pre-diabetic like my dad (it runs in his family). So I win a prize!!! I get to go have more blood drawn. I got this call as I was drinking my skinny iced coffee with half a pump of caramel*, so it pretty much ruined that caffeination vacation.
And then there's still the acid to deal with. I can just tell my doctor's eventually going to order an upper endoscopy. She's also told me to take 3 doses of acid suppressors each day, but I think that's a load of shit. All the research I've done suggests that the medications only perpetuate the problem, and I'm too young to be on a prescription for the rest of my life. (If I'm anything like my great-grandmothers, I could foresee living another 70 years.) I'm beginning to think that medication is the disease from which there is no convalescence. And I'm going to hire a dietician to lay down the law as far as what I should and should not be eating, because my doctor was incredibly vague about that. On the bright side,I really haven't had any acid problems if I don't eat past 7pm at night. That's essentially about five hours before I go to bed.
My interactions with A today have been an extension of last night's fight. Yesterday he accidentally dropped a pitcher full of juice, and then yelled for me to come clean it up because he's "too crippled." I asked him what he would do if I'd been asleep, and he said he'd come wake me up. Then I asked him what he would do if I wasn't here, and he just proceeded to accidentally make a bigger and bigger mess to prove that he's "a cripple." **
I don't know what to do, nothing I did today made him happy. He's not entirely unhappy today, either, just sort of enervated. Or maybe that's me.
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* I only have about two of these concoctions a month, though I do like me some coffee. Lately it's been a half cup of coffee in 8oz of milk. [Frown.]
** I believe he subconsciously does this to punish me for suggesting that spilling shit is a giant pain in the ass for everyone, period, not just him; no, he has to be special. If he ever reads this I will probably be shit-canned as wife, but there's NOTHING WRONG with him. He can do whatever he wants, he just doesn't want to. Yeah, yeah, motorcycle accident, whatever. Spilling shit simply sucks, the end. Get over it.
Strange day. I went to Target yesterday, and got a mishmash of things we needed (since I broke the coffee pot on Sunday). It was raining when I got home so I didn't notice until this morning that I didn't get everything I paid for. I was missing two red melamine serving trays at ten bucks a pop. I kind of expected to fight at Target, because they didn't have my items written in the "paid for and left" log, but they let me look to see if someone had put them back on the shelf. There were only two trays on the shelf to begin with, so when I found them there again I surmised that they were mine and they let me have them. At least that went well.
I'm applying for jobs, which prompts me to answer unknown callers on my cell phone, but instead of an employer, I got the doctor's office. I went in last week to have blood drawn due to my recurring acid problems, meaning that they're testing me AGAIN for H. pylori since I'm new to Kaiser insurance and they don't trust my old doctor. Instead of nasty acid-causing bacteria they found a slightly elevated fasting blood sugar level. Crap. That means I could be pre-diabetic like my dad (it runs in his family). So I win a prize!!! I get to go have more blood drawn. I got this call as I was drinking my skinny iced coffee with half a pump of caramel*, so it pretty much ruined that caffeination vacation.
And then there's still the acid to deal with. I can just tell my doctor's eventually going to order an upper endoscopy. She's also told me to take 3 doses of acid suppressors each day, but I think that's a load of shit. All the research I've done suggests that the medications only perpetuate the problem, and I'm too young to be on a prescription for the rest of my life. (If I'm anything like my great-grandmothers, I could foresee living another 70 years.) I'm beginning to think that medication is the disease from which there is no convalescence. And I'm going to hire a dietician to lay down the law as far as what I should and should not be eating, because my doctor was incredibly vague about that. On the bright side,I really haven't had any acid problems if I don't eat past 7pm at night. That's essentially about five hours before I go to bed.
My interactions with A today have been an extension of last night's fight. Yesterday he accidentally dropped a pitcher full of juice, and then yelled for me to come clean it up because he's "too crippled." I asked him what he would do if I'd been asleep, and he said he'd come wake me up. Then I asked him what he would do if I wasn't here, and he just proceeded to accidentally make a bigger and bigger mess to prove that he's "a cripple." **
I don't know what to do, nothing I did today made him happy. He's not entirely unhappy today, either, just sort of enervated. Or maybe that's me.
--------
* I only have about two of these concoctions a month, though I do like me some coffee. Lately it's been a half cup of coffee in 8oz of milk. [Frown.]
** I believe he subconsciously does this to punish me for suggesting that spilling shit is a giant pain in the ass for everyone, period, not just him; no, he has to be special. If he ever reads this I will probably be shit-canned as wife, but there's NOTHING WRONG with him. He can do whatever he wants, he just doesn't want to. Yeah, yeah, motorcycle accident, whatever. Spilling shit simply sucks, the end. Get over it.