Dead end, again.
So I went to an allergy clinic today to rule out food allergies and came out of it $200 poorer and none the wiser about what my problem is. I had a mild reaction to peas and corn, which the allergist said might be bugging me, but probably not. He suggested I avoid those two foods for a couple of weeks just to see how I felt.
Easy enough, but I doubt it will do any good. Now what?
I got a second opinion from an internist last week, who was helpful only in that she referred me to the allergist and to some endocrinologists. I'm not in the mood to set up anything with these latter folks, simply because I don't think they'll come up with anything different from what my regular doctor did. Which was to manipulate cortisol levels, both up and down, neither having any lasting effect.
I also had a bad attack of the anxieties this last week, so I think I might need more therapy, except that my previous therapist -- whom I really liked -- is now working with sex offenders and doesn't take regular patients anymore. I don't relish the idea of starting over again with another therapist. Maybe later.
Right in the middle of all that anxiety was my dad's wedding. As we all knew he would, he finally managed to rope in some poor woman who has less sense than her years would suppose. Katie's husband died only last January, and nearly immediately she's looking up men on the Internet. She and my dad spent less than a week together in person before deciding to get married. This makes her third marriage. You'd think someone her age would be a bit smarter about marrying strangers.
The wedding took place in my dad's backyard, at the house where I grew up. I wasn't thrilled to go back and see the place, since I've tried to move on. I only went because not going to these things tends to come back and bite you in the anatomy, when "you didn't even go to my wedding" can be used against you for whatever reason. The ceremony was at the hottest time of the day on the hottest day of the year; it took me several days to recover from the heat exhaustion. What tears I shed were for this poor woman, who, unfortunately for her, does not seem to be an empty-headed soul who can be easily manipulated, which would be the perfect complementary pathology for my dad. I wonder how long she'll last.
The first thing they did when they saw me was accost me with "Katie has an idea for a series of children's books that you can write." Please. It's your wedding day, people; don't start with me. All I need is for her to become a meddler in my life.
Then I spent two days at my mom's house with the other three siblings and their respective families. We barely fit into the house, and it was all chaos, all the time (except when they went to Seven Peaks), and I pretty much sat there and watched, though I had some cute conversations with Camille.
I came home to find that the neighbor cat had found the bean-bag chair and peed on it, clear through to the floor. I washed the cover on Monday, went somewhere on Tuesday, and returned to find it peed on again. I had to roll the thing into the back room and shut the door. Stupid cat. Now I can't use the chair anymore. He'll just keep peeing in it whenever I'm gone.
Easy enough, but I doubt it will do any good. Now what?
I got a second opinion from an internist last week, who was helpful only in that she referred me to the allergist and to some endocrinologists. I'm not in the mood to set up anything with these latter folks, simply because I don't think they'll come up with anything different from what my regular doctor did. Which was to manipulate cortisol levels, both up and down, neither having any lasting effect.
I also had a bad attack of the anxieties this last week, so I think I might need more therapy, except that my previous therapist -- whom I really liked -- is now working with sex offenders and doesn't take regular patients anymore. I don't relish the idea of starting over again with another therapist. Maybe later.
Right in the middle of all that anxiety was my dad's wedding. As we all knew he would, he finally managed to rope in some poor woman who has less sense than her years would suppose. Katie's husband died only last January, and nearly immediately she's looking up men on the Internet. She and my dad spent less than a week together in person before deciding to get married. This makes her third marriage. You'd think someone her age would be a bit smarter about marrying strangers.
The wedding took place in my dad's backyard, at the house where I grew up. I wasn't thrilled to go back and see the place, since I've tried to move on. I only went because not going to these things tends to come back and bite you in the anatomy, when "you didn't even go to my wedding" can be used against you for whatever reason. The ceremony was at the hottest time of the day on the hottest day of the year; it took me several days to recover from the heat exhaustion. What tears I shed were for this poor woman, who, unfortunately for her, does not seem to be an empty-headed soul who can be easily manipulated, which would be the perfect complementary pathology for my dad. I wonder how long she'll last.
The first thing they did when they saw me was accost me with "Katie has an idea for a series of children's books that you can write." Please. It's your wedding day, people; don't start with me. All I need is for her to become a meddler in my life.
Then I spent two days at my mom's house with the other three siblings and their respective families. We barely fit into the house, and it was all chaos, all the time (except when they went to Seven Peaks), and I pretty much sat there and watched, though I had some cute conversations with Camille.
I came home to find that the neighbor cat had found the bean-bag chair and peed on it, clear through to the floor. I washed the cover on Monday, went somewhere on Tuesday, and returned to find it peed on again. I had to roll the thing into the back room and shut the door. Stupid cat. Now I can't use the chair anymore. He'll just keep peeing in it whenever I'm gone.