This year I have resolved to start my Christmas knitting earlier than last year. Last year I waited until the end of November, and I had enough time, but I only made simple things for each person. This year I wanted to be slightly more elaborate.
I've already made a colorful scarf for Emilee of my own design. So at least I've started.
I had my trip down to my grandparents' house in Arkansas last week, and for the plane ride and down time while I was down there I brought lace snowflakes to work on. My knitting group is making a hand-crafted tree for a Christmas tree auction for charity, and I volunteered to make snowflake ornaments. They're quick and easy and not bulky, so they were perfect for the plane and to keep in my purse for wherever we ended up on our little vacation.
Also on the list of things to do is a crochet commission. A woman Mim knows saw a picture of a crocheted shawl with skulls on it, and wanted it for Halloween. Unfortunately, she only sent me a picture, not a pattern, and also wanted it converted to a table runner instead of a shawl, so I had to troll the internet to find the pattern (fortunately, it was on Ravelry and relatively easy to find) and then do all the magic maths to re-write the pattern to be for a table runner instead. I have until Halloween to get it finished. I worked on it before my trip and a little bit yesterday, and I'm like 3/4 of the way done with it. She's paying me $100 to do it. I'm not really in it for the money, because if you do the math, that comes out to something like $5-10 an hour, and my time is worth much, much more than that to me. No, I did it as a favor for Mim. The $100 is just a bonus. It's funny, some people say knitting for other people is like sex. If I like you enough, it's free, but if I don't like you, you can't pay me enough. Knitting for friends of friends as a favor to the friend falls under the first category, if I'm in the mood.
After that is all done and I make a few more Christmas ornaments, I need to get going on the rest of the Christmas presents. For Scott, I've already started a pair of double-layer socks for his freezing cold feet (which he puts on my skin while we're lying in bed, sometimes when I'm not expecting it). I already have one of those done, so I just need to make one sock (although it's double-layered, so it's going to actually be two socks, so four socks total).
For Mim, I'm having my indie-dyer dye me up some sock yarn to look like watermelon stripes for a pair of socks that she requested. She asked for pink and green striped socks, so this will be perfect, and even a little more fun.
For Kwiddens, I'm having my dyer friend dye me some heathered gray yarn to make some mittens.
I don't have any idea what to make for Jorgen or Nyah. Isaac might get a scarf, but I made him one last year and he probably doesn't need another one, and I know he's way too picky about hats, so I suppose I'm stuck on what to make for him, as well.
Any suggestions on what to make for people (Cough Kwiddens Cough)?
Monday, September 23, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
I'm Back From My Trip, But...
I got home yesterday from spending almost a week with my biological grandparents. The trip was okay, albeit a bit too long for my taste. I can only play board games so much before I get to missing home.
Anyway, something that bugged me on the trip, and bugged Kwiddens as well, is how much we ate. Actually, I should be more clear: it was how much more my (thin) grandparents ate compared to how much Kwiddens and I ate.
I felt like at every meal I would eat normal portions of the foods set on the table, and even not eat some of the foods, such as the potato chips we had with our hot dogs. Instead I ate more fruit and vegetables. And then my grandparents would go for seconds, and Kwiddens and I would just sit there and wait for them to finish. And they're the ones that are thin.
I've been thinking for some time about how genetics can play a huge role in how your body treats and processes food, and I've been wondering where in the world it could have come from. Kwiddens and I are overweight, but Em and Jorg aren't, and are able to eat anything they want and not gain weight. All of Mim's family are tall and thin, and I was wondering if it came from my biological dad's side of the family, but now that I've spent some time with them and seen that they 1) are thin and 2) eat so much more than I do, I realize that it isn't from them, either.
So what could it be? There must be something different between Em and Jorg and Kwiddens and me.
The first thing that comes to mind...stress.
Kwiddens and I were treated badly growing up. I won't go into detail, as that's really a story for another time (when I'm ready to talk about it, I suppose), but I'll just point out that Kwiddens had a worse time growing up than I did, and she's a bit more overweight than I am.
I know stress causes bad chemical imbalances in your body, and that can lead to weight gain, particularly around the stomach, and that's the bad fat that will cause problems later in life. Who knows, maybe it's causing problems now. It definitely hasn't done good things for my self-esteem, that's for sure.
But what happens when you go through 20+ years of intense stress and unhappiness? This.
I'm convinced that part of it is the combination of medications I'm on. I was always a bit on the heavy side (although, looking back, I wish I were the weight I was back when I thought I was fat), but I didn't become "overweight" until I started taking birth control before I got married, and I didn't become "obese" until I started taking an antipsychotic. I don't think that's a coincidence.
One of the many, many frustrating things about it is that I've since gotten my life under control, and I'm no longer under the intense stress I was growing up. I mean, yes, there are definitely stressful things in my life, but I'm not unhappy. I'm (mostly) handling it pretty well. There are bad moments, but they are far outweighed by the good moments.
Back to the stress of growing up, though. It's a well-known fact that stress changes your body's chemistry, both in the brain and in the rest of your body. So what does 20 years of unhappiness and emotional abuse and neglect do to a person? It's frightening to think about how badly your environment can affect your body.
Another interesting thing Kwiddens and I read in the Reader's Digest on the plane ride home yesterday was about different strains of bacteria in the intestines of fat and thin people. There are apparently two different types of bacteria, and how much you have of each appears to be directly correlated to how well your body metabolizes food. And wouldn't you know it, stressed-out people tend to have more of the "fat" bacteria than thin people do.
One last thing I'd like to add into this one-person discussion is this: when I was trying really hard to eat right and exercise, I wasn't seeing results, and once I gave up and decided to eat whatever I felt like, I didn't gain a damn pound. So honestly, what's the point?
It seems like it's totally out of my control. And every once in a while, I get the urge to try again, especially when I see all the cute clothes in my closet that don't fit me right now, but then I think about how much work it is and how I've never been able to get permanent results before, and I don't feel like wasting effort doing something that probably won't work anyway.
I guess what it comes down to, in the end, is that it's not important enough to me for me to put any major effort into it. And that may change someday for all I know. But for now, all I want to do is do what makes me happy and hope for the best.
Anyway, something that bugged me on the trip, and bugged Kwiddens as well, is how much we ate. Actually, I should be more clear: it was how much more my (thin) grandparents ate compared to how much Kwiddens and I ate.
I felt like at every meal I would eat normal portions of the foods set on the table, and even not eat some of the foods, such as the potato chips we had with our hot dogs. Instead I ate more fruit and vegetables. And then my grandparents would go for seconds, and Kwiddens and I would just sit there and wait for them to finish. And they're the ones that are thin.
I've been thinking for some time about how genetics can play a huge role in how your body treats and processes food, and I've been wondering where in the world it could have come from. Kwiddens and I are overweight, but Em and Jorg aren't, and are able to eat anything they want and not gain weight. All of Mim's family are tall and thin, and I was wondering if it came from my biological dad's side of the family, but now that I've spent some time with them and seen that they 1) are thin and 2) eat so much more than I do, I realize that it isn't from them, either.
So what could it be? There must be something different between Em and Jorg and Kwiddens and me.
The first thing that comes to mind...stress.
Kwiddens and I were treated badly growing up. I won't go into detail, as that's really a story for another time (when I'm ready to talk about it, I suppose), but I'll just point out that Kwiddens had a worse time growing up than I did, and she's a bit more overweight than I am.
I know stress causes bad chemical imbalances in your body, and that can lead to weight gain, particularly around the stomach, and that's the bad fat that will cause problems later in life. Who knows, maybe it's causing problems now. It definitely hasn't done good things for my self-esteem, that's for sure.
But what happens when you go through 20+ years of intense stress and unhappiness? This.
I'm convinced that part of it is the combination of medications I'm on. I was always a bit on the heavy side (although, looking back, I wish I were the weight I was back when I thought I was fat), but I didn't become "overweight" until I started taking birth control before I got married, and I didn't become "obese" until I started taking an antipsychotic. I don't think that's a coincidence.
One of the many, many frustrating things about it is that I've since gotten my life under control, and I'm no longer under the intense stress I was growing up. I mean, yes, there are definitely stressful things in my life, but I'm not unhappy. I'm (mostly) handling it pretty well. There are bad moments, but they are far outweighed by the good moments.
Back to the stress of growing up, though. It's a well-known fact that stress changes your body's chemistry, both in the brain and in the rest of your body. So what does 20 years of unhappiness and emotional abuse and neglect do to a person? It's frightening to think about how badly your environment can affect your body.
Another interesting thing Kwiddens and I read in the Reader's Digest on the plane ride home yesterday was about different strains of bacteria in the intestines of fat and thin people. There are apparently two different types of bacteria, and how much you have of each appears to be directly correlated to how well your body metabolizes food. And wouldn't you know it, stressed-out people tend to have more of the "fat" bacteria than thin people do.
One last thing I'd like to add into this one-person discussion is this: when I was trying really hard to eat right and exercise, I wasn't seeing results, and once I gave up and decided to eat whatever I felt like, I didn't gain a damn pound. So honestly, what's the point?
It seems like it's totally out of my control. And every once in a while, I get the urge to try again, especially when I see all the cute clothes in my closet that don't fit me right now, but then I think about how much work it is and how I've never been able to get permanent results before, and I don't feel like wasting effort doing something that probably won't work anyway.
I guess what it comes down to, in the end, is that it's not important enough to me for me to put any major effort into it. And that may change someday for all I know. But for now, all I want to do is do what makes me happy and hope for the best.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
The Sno-Cone Was Enormous
Last night I went to the Utah State Fair with a few friends. We had a blast! I haven't gone in a few years because the thing I like the most is the rides and I usually have nobody to ride with me (Scott doesn't like rides. He gets nauseated too easily. Also, they probably would be too hard on his back.) but this year my friend and I rode all the rides and it was so awesome. Since we went on a Tuesday night, there were almost no lines for rides (although there were long lines for food, except the gyro line, which is where I went) and we got to ride a few of them multiple times.
I really enjoy the rides, but more than that I love fair food! I had a gyro and some baklava, and later I had a giant sno-cone (Barbie flavored, which is bubblegum and cotton candy, because as you all know, I have the taste of a nine-year-old). Scott had some twirly fried potato thingies and later on a turkey leg, which made him pretty sick because of the grease, so he only ate a little bit of it and then he gave it to Buster when we got home. Buster didn't quite know what to make of it, so we had to pull off bits of meat and feed them to him.
Anyway, it was really good for us to get out of the house. We really enjoy spending time with the other couple who went with us. Most of all, Scott needed some sort of amusement to keep his mind off the pain and nausea and withdrawal symptoms (he had forgotten some meds that morning), and I think we accomplished that pretty well.
The only thing I didn't like was getting home so late. I usually hop into bed around 8:00 and am sleeping by 9:00 (because let's face it: I'm an old lady at heart), but I didn't get to sleep until about 11:00 last night, and today I am just dragging. I had a coffee this morning and that is helping, but I'm still sleepy. Oh well, it was totally worth it to have such a good time with some awesome friends.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Worry, Worry, Worry
You know, I'd been feeling not only depression, but hopelessness when it came to Scott's back pain. But he had another epidural injection last Thursday, and although I wasn't optimistic, it seems to be helping. He's not 100% pain-free, but he did something amazing the other day: he bent over and picked something off of the floor. I know that doesn't seem like a big deal, but around here it's a hella big deal. He was also able to spend a few hours on yard work the other day, and it hurt him, but he was able to push through it, whereas before he would have had to stop ten minutes in.
So although I know I can chalk up the last few weeks of depression to both a bipolar phase and life frustration at the same time, this was something that was bothering me badly and now it seems like we can live with it. Now the next thing to worry about is how long this injection will last. Previous injections have lasted up to two months. Unfortunately, he can only get them every three months because they're bone-degenerative. So if this one lasts two months, and that's a big IF, it'll leave him with a whole month of pain before he can get another one.
Anyway, that's just the nature of a bipolar person who thinks too much: I worry, and worry, and worry some more. It keeps me up at night. I can't often just live in the moment; I have to think things out, like in a chess game. I have to know what the plan is five steps from now. If I don't, I get uncomfortable or anxious.
On the other hand, sometimes it's nice to do something spontaneously, because then I don't have time to agonize over every little detail before it happens, like I'm currently doing with my trip down to see my grandparents next week. I know in my mind that everything will be fine, but I'm worrying about the stupidest little things and I need to stop.
So although I know I can chalk up the last few weeks of depression to both a bipolar phase and life frustration at the same time, this was something that was bothering me badly and now it seems like we can live with it. Now the next thing to worry about is how long this injection will last. Previous injections have lasted up to two months. Unfortunately, he can only get them every three months because they're bone-degenerative. So if this one lasts two months, and that's a big IF, it'll leave him with a whole month of pain before he can get another one.
Anyway, that's just the nature of a bipolar person who thinks too much: I worry, and worry, and worry some more. It keeps me up at night. I can't often just live in the moment; I have to think things out, like in a chess game. I have to know what the plan is five steps from now. If I don't, I get uncomfortable or anxious.
On the other hand, sometimes it's nice to do something spontaneously, because then I don't have time to agonize over every little detail before it happens, like I'm currently doing with my trip down to see my grandparents next week. I know in my mind that everything will be fine, but I'm worrying about the stupidest little things and I need to stop.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Knitting Friends For Life!
So things for me lately have been...rough. If I sit down and think about it rationally, it only boils down to three main things: stress at work, financial difficulties, and Scott's back pain. Each of those things is something to worry about, yes, but all three together plus a depressive episode is a recipe for three weeks of hopelessness, sadness, self-loathing, loneliness, etc. There were a few moments in there when I wanted to figure out a way out. OUT. I hadn't missed any of my meds; it just got that bad for a few days there.
I did what I could to pull myself out of it. I got plenty of sleep. I took time off work (not really by choice, though; can't work if you have a screaming migraine). I ate vegetables (and those of you that know me well know that that's kinda a big deal). I drank lots of water (and less Dr. Pepper). I took long, hot, relaxing baths. I read books I love. I watched movies and TV shows I love. I knitted and crocheted and looked longingly through books of stitch patterns. I fondled yarn. I snuggled Buster. I confided in people and spent time with people, even when I didn't feel like it.
But it wasn't enough. I was still depressed, just trying to climb out of a deep emotional hole, and failing miserably.
Let me tell you about something that happened last night.
Well, I'll start with yesterday. I had missed two days of work, and so when I got to work Thursday morning the intensely overwhelming reality of what all I had to do to catch up hit me like a freight train, and I decided then and there that it would be a Klonopin day. I took half a dose so I wouldn't be woozy at work (woozy+concentrated acid=bad, bad things), waited for it to kick in, and went about my day. I got so much done and I wasn't stressed about it at all. At about 12:30 I started to feel it wearing off, so I took another half of a dose. Right about as that second dose was wearing off it was time to go home. I had accomplished everything I needed to (and more) and I hadn't snapped at anyone or totally lost it, so I felt like it had been a good day. Of course, every day that you spend half-stoned tends to be a good day.
So I got home and changed my clothes and went straight over to the pub to meet my knitting group. I sat down, ordered some wine and fish and chips, and got knitting. Well, that's when it happened.
Let me start by saying that I've been meeting with this group of women at least once a week (but usually more) for more than two years now. They know me almost as well as Scott knows me, and that's really something. I don't usually let people in this far but somehow I've known all along that I can trust these women with my life and soul and there's never going to be anything but love and acceptance.
Now, I've been spending the past three weeks with them, and it's been a rough patch, so as much as I've been trying to stay positive, it's not been working as well as I thought. I'd been confiding in them about what's been bothering me, and they've been so kind to listen and sympathize.
Here's this lovely group of women, and they see me hurting, and they understand my pain, and as soon as I sit down at the table they hand me a giant, pink basket, tied with a pink, polka-dotted bow, overflowing with pink, sparkly gifts. One of them put it in front of me and hugged me tight and said "This is an 'I Love You' basket. We just wanted you to know that we all love you and if you need anything at all you just have to ask."
And I just lost it. Right there in the pub. It was all I could do not to sob. These beautiful, wonderful women came together and wanted to let me know in the sweetest way possible that I am one of them, that we are all friends, and that we all love each other very, very much.
So what was in the basket?
I'll show you!
A big pink basket thingy, which I can use for knitting or whatever I want, a pink bracelet, a pink nail polish, a pink back massager, pink hair-ties, pink lip balm, and even a slinky and a whoopee cushion because what's a gift basket without a little whimsy?
A pink, flowered clipboard, a gratitude journal, a skull notepad, three pink, sparkly notepads, a cute pen and pencil, and Halloween stickers (some of which are pets in costumes and it's ADORABLE).
Lavender vanilla bath salts, a ring pop, pink gum, a coffee mug, Tazo chamomile tea, a stress drink, and coffee-filled chocolate.
Two pink pillows, one of them lovingly hand-quilted, a skein of sock yarn, a skein of ruffle scarf yarn, and two skeins of pink yarn, one sparkly and one just a bit shimmery with a lovely halo.
And here it is all together.
I came home from last night, having had some delicious food, wine, and chocolate cake, and having received such a wonderful, thoughtful, personal gift from an entire group of ladies who wanted to brighten my day, and I was floating. I felt so much better about myself, about life, and about my current troubles.
That, my friends, is the power you hold over your fellow human beings. I went from hating life and wanting it to be over to overflowing with joy and love for my family and especially my group of friends, all because someone did something selfless and kind.
Someday I (or you, or anyone else) may have the opportunity to brighten someone's day. It might be something big like a giant, nice-smelling, delicious, pink, sparkly gift-basket, or it might be something as small as a smile or a little compliment, but I guarantee you I am not going to pass any kind of opportunity up if there's even a small chance I can make a difference in someone's life.
I did what I could to pull myself out of it. I got plenty of sleep. I took time off work (not really by choice, though; can't work if you have a screaming migraine). I ate vegetables (and those of you that know me well know that that's kinda a big deal). I drank lots of water (and less Dr. Pepper). I took long, hot, relaxing baths. I read books I love. I watched movies and TV shows I love. I knitted and crocheted and looked longingly through books of stitch patterns. I fondled yarn. I snuggled Buster. I confided in people and spent time with people, even when I didn't feel like it.
But it wasn't enough. I was still depressed, just trying to climb out of a deep emotional hole, and failing miserably.
Let me tell you about something that happened last night.
Well, I'll start with yesterday. I had missed two days of work, and so when I got to work Thursday morning the intensely overwhelming reality of what all I had to do to catch up hit me like a freight train, and I decided then and there that it would be a Klonopin day. I took half a dose so I wouldn't be woozy at work (woozy+concentrated acid=bad, bad things), waited for it to kick in, and went about my day. I got so much done and I wasn't stressed about it at all. At about 12:30 I started to feel it wearing off, so I took another half of a dose. Right about as that second dose was wearing off it was time to go home. I had accomplished everything I needed to (and more) and I hadn't snapped at anyone or totally lost it, so I felt like it had been a good day. Of course, every day that you spend half-stoned tends to be a good day.
So I got home and changed my clothes and went straight over to the pub to meet my knitting group. I sat down, ordered some wine and fish and chips, and got knitting. Well, that's when it happened.
Let me start by saying that I've been meeting with this group of women at least once a week (but usually more) for more than two years now. They know me almost as well as Scott knows me, and that's really something. I don't usually let people in this far but somehow I've known all along that I can trust these women with my life and soul and there's never going to be anything but love and acceptance.
Now, I've been spending the past three weeks with them, and it's been a rough patch, so as much as I've been trying to stay positive, it's not been working as well as I thought. I'd been confiding in them about what's been bothering me, and they've been so kind to listen and sympathize.
Here's this lovely group of women, and they see me hurting, and they understand my pain, and as soon as I sit down at the table they hand me a giant, pink basket, tied with a pink, polka-dotted bow, overflowing with pink, sparkly gifts. One of them put it in front of me and hugged me tight and said "This is an 'I Love You' basket. We just wanted you to know that we all love you and if you need anything at all you just have to ask."
And I just lost it. Right there in the pub. It was all I could do not to sob. These beautiful, wonderful women came together and wanted to let me know in the sweetest way possible that I am one of them, that we are all friends, and that we all love each other very, very much.
So what was in the basket?
I'll show you!
A big pink basket thingy, which I can use for knitting or whatever I want, a pink bracelet, a pink nail polish, a pink back massager, pink hair-ties, pink lip balm, and even a slinky and a whoopee cushion because what's a gift basket without a little whimsy?
A pink, flowered clipboard, a gratitude journal, a skull notepad, three pink, sparkly notepads, a cute pen and pencil, and Halloween stickers (some of which are pets in costumes and it's ADORABLE).
Lavender vanilla bath salts, a ring pop, pink gum, a coffee mug, Tazo chamomile tea, a stress drink, and coffee-filled chocolate.
Two pink pillows, one of them lovingly hand-quilted, a skein of sock yarn, a skein of ruffle scarf yarn, and two skeins of pink yarn, one sparkly and one just a bit shimmery with a lovely halo.
And here it is all together.
I came home from last night, having had some delicious food, wine, and chocolate cake, and having received such a wonderful, thoughtful, personal gift from an entire group of ladies who wanted to brighten my day, and I was floating. I felt so much better about myself, about life, and about my current troubles.
That, my friends, is the power you hold over your fellow human beings. I went from hating life and wanting it to be over to overflowing with joy and love for my family and especially my group of friends, all because someone did something selfless and kind.
Someday I (or you, or anyone else) may have the opportunity to brighten someone's day. It might be something big like a giant, nice-smelling, delicious, pink, sparkly gift-basket, or it might be something as small as a smile or a little compliment, but I guarantee you I am not going to pass any kind of opportunity up if there's even a small chance I can make a difference in someone's life.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Some Coworkers Are Totally Knitworthy!
Remember this?
Well, pretty much literally a year later, I found a use for the pretty yarn I made!
These were for a coworker, actually one of my favorite coworkers. She cuts me slack when I need it and always listens to me whine. She had commented on a picture of some mitts I made on Facebook, and so I decided to make some for her to show her how much I really appreciate all she does for me.
It looks like one is slightly bigger than the other, right? Yeah. Oops. But she still loved them and they fit her hands just fine.
Well, pretty much literally a year later, I found a use for the pretty yarn I made!
These were for a coworker, actually one of my favorite coworkers. She cuts me slack when I need it and always listens to me whine. She had commented on a picture of some mitts I made on Facebook, and so I decided to make some for her to show her how much I really appreciate all she does for me.
It looks like one is slightly bigger than the other, right? Yeah. Oops. But she still loved them and they fit her hands just fine.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
It's All Falling Apart...Including Me
Something that has always been true about me is that when I get stressed, I get sick. All kinds of sick.
Recently my life has been stress, plus some stress, with stress on top. And I'm not handling it well.
There's a lot going on. I feel like we're drowning, financially. And I don't see an end to it. The medical bills are quite enough, thank you very much, but now the insurance company has decided not to cover Scott's pain clinic visits anymore. In order to pay for these, we had to reduce monthly contributions to Scott's 401K. It's not like Scott can go without. If he doesn't take painkillers every day, he's bedridden because the pain is so intense. Hell, even with the pain medication he's been bedridden lately and it's just killing both of us.
We're sitting on the Focus for the moment. I feel like selling it would pull us out of this financial hole, but we can't because Scott's company may or may not move, and we might end up needing a commuter car. We just don't know. In the meantime, it's broken anyway, and we can't afford to fix it.
So then there's work. It's not bad. It's just stressful, and I feel like I haven't been handling the stress lately. It's all I can do to drag myself out of bed in the morning and go in, because I know that I'll go in, have an incredibly stressful morning, and then, if things slow down, I'll be bored senseless all afternoon. If they don't slow down, I won't have time to take a lunch break or even go to the bathroom.
But the biggest thing of all is Scott's pain. There's nothing I can do about it at all. He has an epidural scheduled for this coming Thursday, but to be completely honest, I'm not hopeful.
I've kinda lost hope completely now. I've felt like this for a few weeks now. I'm so depressed it hurts, and my mind is taking it out on my body.
I've been feeling generally unwell, but I've also been getting awful headaches and body aches and nausea and tummygrumblies and this past weekend, I sneezed and it threw my back out. How sad is that?
I feel lately like no amount of talking it out or even drinking it away is helping. I got drunk last Friday and although I felt great while I was drinking, the next morning, even though I wasn't hung over, the weight of everything that's hurting me just descended back onto my shoulders and I could barely breathe for the stress of it all.
Why can't it be easy, just for a little while, just long enough for me to crawl out of this emotional hole?
Recently my life has been stress, plus some stress, with stress on top. And I'm not handling it well.
There's a lot going on. I feel like we're drowning, financially. And I don't see an end to it. The medical bills are quite enough, thank you very much, but now the insurance company has decided not to cover Scott's pain clinic visits anymore. In order to pay for these, we had to reduce monthly contributions to Scott's 401K. It's not like Scott can go without. If he doesn't take painkillers every day, he's bedridden because the pain is so intense. Hell, even with the pain medication he's been bedridden lately and it's just killing both of us.
We're sitting on the Focus for the moment. I feel like selling it would pull us out of this financial hole, but we can't because Scott's company may or may not move, and we might end up needing a commuter car. We just don't know. In the meantime, it's broken anyway, and we can't afford to fix it.
So then there's work. It's not bad. It's just stressful, and I feel like I haven't been handling the stress lately. It's all I can do to drag myself out of bed in the morning and go in, because I know that I'll go in, have an incredibly stressful morning, and then, if things slow down, I'll be bored senseless all afternoon. If they don't slow down, I won't have time to take a lunch break or even go to the bathroom.
But the biggest thing of all is Scott's pain. There's nothing I can do about it at all. He has an epidural scheduled for this coming Thursday, but to be completely honest, I'm not hopeful.
I've kinda lost hope completely now. I've felt like this for a few weeks now. I'm so depressed it hurts, and my mind is taking it out on my body.
I've been feeling generally unwell, but I've also been getting awful headaches and body aches and nausea and tummygrumblies and this past weekend, I sneezed and it threw my back out. How sad is that?
I feel lately like no amount of talking it out or even drinking it away is helping. I got drunk last Friday and although I felt great while I was drinking, the next morning, even though I wasn't hung over, the weight of everything that's hurting me just descended back onto my shoulders and I could barely breathe for the stress of it all.
Why can't it be easy, just for a little while, just long enough for me to crawl out of this emotional hole?
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