Needless Worrying

Of course, that's the story of my life.

I went in to Dr. D today about the depression. I told her that I had gotten the Lexapro from my sister (which is such a lie... she won't even give me a phone call) and she was very understanding about it. In fact, Dr. D really likes Lexapro because there are so fewer side effects. She bumped me up to 20 mg, and gave me two different scrips - one so I can get it filled now and one to mail in.

She wants me to come back in 6 months to see how it's working, and to discuss talk therapy. Been there, done that. But, perhaps she can hook me up with someone that will actually help. The last person that I saw was a really nice lady, but we never really worked on it. Not that I know what to expect, mind you, but I thought that it would be much more introspective and problem solving than it was.

Purge

I just deleted Dooce from my bookmarks. I wish her all the best, but I'm over it. Now, I have more room for fabulous things like Haiku of the Day and Mimi Smartypants and Things What Things and Velcrometer. They're all my heroes.

Awwwwww.

Another Day Down the Tubes

At least I was at home today, so it wasn't as horrible as it could have been. But, I have come to the conclusion that it's just bad for me to work at both jobs on the same day. By the time that I got home last night at 10:30, I needed a vicodin and two klonopin. Boy, did I sleep wonderfully!

It's been so lovely here at night. Normally, it goes from 30 to 80 this time of year, and even the nights are brutal. We've had the windows open a little every night for the last week, and I can't help but think that's helping with the sleep issues. Well, that and all of the chemicals.

Excruciating

Last night, I was squatting, digging something out of my medicine cabinet under the sink. Because I am an enormous clod, I fell backwards onto the cold, hard, tile floor. Right on my fistula, which has been giving me lots of problems lately anyway.

I screamed. A came and sat in the doorway of the bathroom as I tried not to cry and hyperventilate. Eventually, I staggered into the bedroom to lay down. Vicodin, here we come!

Today, it's bleeding. A lot. And, it's so sore that sitting is difficult. I am not sure how I'm going to make it all day in the office tomorrow and then at the store tomorrow night. I have to call Dr. L and get more vicodin.

I hate asking for vicodin. I've gotten lectured by him about it so many times, but I still hate asking. We both know that I'm not an addict, I take it rarely, and it doesn't really have any other effect on me than taking away the pain. But, I still hate asking for it. He always gives me a full month and one refill, and it usually takes more than a year to take it all (including sharing it with needy people and refilling it before it expires).

Ah, Friday

How lovely to go to lunch with M and have a few beers. Too bad that I am so sleepy now, when I have plants to plant, dessert to bake, laundry to fold, and work to do. It's really a terrible habit, and I really should only have one beer instead of two, but it's so DELIGHTFUL.

The Perils of Poo in Public

My flare isn't getting any better. Nothing that I eat stays with me for much longer than an hour max. This means that there will be times that I will have a problem when I'm in the office, and it's pretty brutal.

Gene Weingarten has talked about Poo Shame a number of times in his chat on the Washington Post, and I fall firmly in the camp that is in denial. When I was in college, I would hold it for hours until I was able to get to my designated toilet. Now, that's not an option. I use the "courtesy flush" early and often, and yesterday I found myself lurking in the stall until I was sure that everyone that was in the bathroom had left. I am terrified of having all kinds of horrendous sounds and smells that are not fully masked by the flushes and running into someone at the sink.

You would think that I would make it a point not to eat things that would set it off, but that's no fun. You would also think that I would remember to bring the wet wipes from my desk with me, but that's no fun either. I should just offer the suffering up to God. I'm sure he'd be very sympathetic, especially after I ate fries with my lunch.

I used to work with a woman that used to GRUNT when she was in her stall. She wouldn't wash her hands, either. We were all a little relieved (no pun intended) when she was fired.

H is a fearless pooper, but most men are. He knows that if he has to go, he has to go. But, he did tell me recently that he will sometimes go to a different floor in his office to go if he thinks that it will be particularly bad. Perhaps he has a little Poo Shame after all.

huge relief

The woman from the closet place was here this morning and designed a gorgeous new closet for us. Thankfully, it is almost half of what I had expected it to cost. We're not doing anything extravagant, but it will certainly suffice (and will give us almost twice the space to boot).

Unfortunately, we'll have to wait for about a month for an installation date. H will look at the plans with me tonight, the contract will go in tomorrow, and she'll call me with an exact date. At least it will only take one day to get it installed.

It will really be beautiful when it's finished. And such a tremendous relief!