Improvement

I checked my blood sugar level this morning and it was 80. I think that's good.
And today, while missing my mother terribly, it was more of an ache, dull, than an all-consuming spasm of pain wracking my body, especially my chest.
That's an improvement, right?

New Worries

So I am thinking that I am getting diabetes. This is not some idle worry or threat. My mother had diabetes, my father has it, both of my grandmothers had it. My grandfathers died before they could get it. They had bad tickers.

The seroquel is said to raise your blood glucose level. Read: sugar. So I've decided to again try to go off of sugar.

Seriously, this is a pain in my ass. And I'm addicted to it like a drug. Last night. Eeek! I don't even want to write it for fear of making it worse and more real.
Deep breath. Last night, after dinner, I checked my level. It was 241. That seems awfully damn high to me. Dad said not to worry, we'd check it this morning before breakfast. It was 115. I thought that was pretty damn high also. He said not to worry -- over 120 is bad.

So once I got to the office, I googled it. Fasting glucose (sugar) levels should be below 100. Over 100 but below 125 is probably pre-diabetes. And here's the thing (well one of the things, anyway), I've been having to pee a lot lately. So much so that I was thinking maybe I was broken down there or maybe I had a urinary tract infection. Nope, that's just a sign of diabetes. That and the thirst I have all of the time lately.
And slow healing. This one doesn't really count because I've always healed very slow (when comparing to others).

Anyway. I'm not usually one of those persons who trolls webMD and then thinks they have whatever they've read. But I do think this is real. And I seriously need to get my shittake in order. I mean really.

One of my professors said once, "You can warn someone the train is coming, but sometimes people don't believe you until they get run down." Is that me? Am I going to get mowed down and then - ? Who will I have to blame? Myself? I already do that all the time anyway.

Gotta start working out too. Let's see if we can slow this train down a bit. Or get the hell off the track. Seriously.

Too much

So, I guess that internet dating site sees when you are at the site, for whatever reason. And the more you are on the site, the higher it puts you as a search result.
?
Is this true?
Because all of a sudden my inbox is blowing up! Too many! Too many!
All with the ever-present Eww! and Yuck!

Maybe I should just remove my profile because, let's be honest, I'm in no shape to start a relationship.
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On a different topic, and I know it is too soon, I am feeling much better. Yes, yes. I *know* that it is too soon for the new medicine to work. And I am just having an "ok" day which I have anyway, from time to time.
But I am worried that I am having high blood sugar and that I am developing diabetes. I have been getting dizzy - for no reason, and then getting nauseated - for no reason. Oooh, and let's not forget - oops, already forgot. (OOPS! ALREADY FORGOT!!!)

Well. I have no idea what I was going to write there. Moving on.

Anyway, I'm going to start checking my sugar and see where I stand. Really, not looking forward to that. I did look online and a couple of different sites read that if you exercise, eat right and shed a couple of extra pounds, you can effectively stave off diabetes.
So here's hoping!

Doctor. And Sad.

I went to the doctor today to get a refill and tell him I'm taking more of the med than he prescribed.
And he added on Cymbalta. And this stuff, yeah, it's supposed to be like a miracle drug. So let's see if it produces some miracles.
And I was really sad thinking about things. And the sun was not out --which always makes me sad. And then trying to explain to the doctor that I don't want to get as bad as last time. That I'd rather be dead than get that depressed and get that lost again. But I don't want to say that - because I don't want him to get all worried that I'm going to do myself harm. Because I don't want to do myself harm. And as I don't really believe in an afterlife - unless there is reincarnation - I don't want to be nothing under the ground. So, yeah, I don't want to be dead. At least not yet.
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But!
I did text every one. And I did say - Hey, let's have a dress up party. And I put constraints on it. To Not Spend Money. Because, let's face it, we're all poor.
So my idea was this: Go pull something, some concoction out of your closet. Something we, hopefully, haven't seen before. A weird combination of clothing and turn that into a costume. So you could be slutty or dirty or fancy or a hipster doofus. I guess you could wear pajamas or that fancy, fancy dress that you bought but don't have an occasion to wear. That was my idea.
Plus, make it a pot luck. And everyone bring one bottle and we'll mix them all together and make a witch's brew.
We voted and Saturday night seems to be the night.

Something to look forward to. I hope it goes well.

I'm hoping that I am not too fat to wear this pretty, fancy, stupid dress that I bought - for no purpose other than it was on clearance and was sooo pretty, I couldn't not buy it. Let's see shall we?

Wish me luck.

Confession

Mc made me sign up for an internet dating site. It's free, so that's something.

But the more I think about it, the more oogie it seems. It's like we've found an entirely new way to meet people who are unsuitable for ourselves. And I like to take things slowly and these guys are: BAM! Here's my phone number! Bam! Text me! Bam! Let's have coffee.

Yeah, no.

Mc is of the opinion that I need to let go of fear. I think I just need to let go and just forget dating. It seems so yucky and so - plastic. Like: here is my face at a certain angle in 2D and here are the selected things I'm going to tell you about myself to put myself in a particular package and wrap it up nicely with a bow.

It's so fake and uncomfortable. I'll report back from the trenches.

Did I just post a reminder?

Because I just had some orangecicles. They were good. I can Stop All Sugar now.
I can. But I am going to the ballet with Tm and I'm sure I'm gonna have some drinks. Let's get this party started!
Hee. That's how I roll.

Reminder

I am striving yet again to treat myself better. To treat myself with Love/love.

No more sugar.
Exercise, with care.
Take care of outside, take care of in.
Treat self as precious.

This what I wrote - not even a month ago.

I think I needed a reminder. How about you?

Oh! and a pretty picture to help us remember that we deserve handsomeness in our lives.

Thanks imdb - oh, and Ray Stevenson. Pretty.
:)

Torturous Dreams

So I've been having dreams about my mother lately. Vivid dreams. But I can't quite remember them when I wake.

Last night it seemed if I was having a psychotic break in my dreams because I was talking to her and doing things with her and then I remarked or knew somehow that she was a ghost. And still she laughed. And I don't really remember but I just miss her terribly.
Then I was invoking Trustworthy T. And later he called, all in the dream of course. And I was amazed that he called and he was calling a wrong number- or pretending to- and at once, I recognized his voice. I wondered at how he had my number and then realized that Mom had kept my line for business. I don't know why: she just did. And he spoke about his life, that he had a plumbing company-very small-that he was hoping would make it. And how his life was so good now. And it was because he had no pain. He had finally exorcised his demons and was free from pain. Something like, I should try it and it was the easiest thing in the world: to be pain free.
And in my dream, I could hear myself saying something really bitchy, but then stopping and tempering my voice and telling him, good for you. I'm glad.
And as I left my parents' house where I grew up and where they no longer live, I saw him trying his old tricks, trying to follow me. And that's where the dream gets all retarded and I'm leading him - not really - on a high speed chase.

Some back story.
Trustworthy T was not trustworthy. He was tortured. He had a tortured soul. And my soul rushed to soothe his. This, of course, cannot be done and many years did his soul, his being, torment mine.
Also: he was a dick. A right asshole.
He was the closest thing I have had to a boyfriend and yet, he wasn't my boyfriend.
He was abusive. And a drunk. Oh, and don't forget, mentally ill. He had crazy ideas and in high school and after, I ate them up.
In the beginning, he called all the girls, "Doll." Heartrendingly adorable. He wore sunglasses, Ray-bans, all the time, even at night. He was small and smoldering. Dark hair, dark eyes.
And I wanted desperately, needed desperately, to be in his life. We became inseparable.
Through the years, once I finally, finally ended it. I've demonized him. I'm not sure it is fair but he is not the hero in my story. And he was one abusive fuck.
And I was addicted.

I've effectively hidden from him for years - but then with home ownership and the ever-connected web, I'm sure he knows exactly where I am. And it is entirely possible that he's watched me. But, at this point, I doubt that he would even care to do as much. He used to stake out and be a right effective stalker but I am sure I am not his prey. Not anymore.
He's threatened more than once to kill my parents, to kill me. And I told him I would never have the strength to leave him again but I did, finally, and this time it stuck.

My chest feels heavy and tightly coiled. And the sadness is heavy, heavy.

And the reality probably is
He is probably happy and well. Good for him.
And I am not. Sad for me.

Let him be happy -- far away from me.
But don't I deserve some happiness? What should I do to find it? To release this pain inside my chest?

Mid-week, Mid-October

I've been having trouble posting recently because while I'm not terribly sad, I'm not terribly happy either.

I have been doing some good work, so that's a bonus.

I did, this past weekend, attempt to clean my shower. Yep, you read that right. This entire weekend. Also: attempt. You see, I have a really, really big shower/tub enclosure. It is a sunken, tiled-in expanse of approximately six feet long and four feet wide. The tile reaches all the way to the ceiling which, as I was scrubbing this weekend, I estimated at being 12 feet tall. It is supposed to be a tub, it's rectangular and (as I've said) tiled and missing some grout and doesn't hold water very well. Even if it did hold the water well, the surface area is so vast, the water cools down almost immediately.
Now, I used to clean it fairly regularly, if not often, but when I had that last bad bout of depression--it got really bad, mostly because I did not notice until it was downright disgusting. I've tried to clean it a bit since then but have found that it just might be too late for my shower. I might have to burn it down and gather the insurance money and go on vacation where, supposedly, some unseen hands clean their showers for them.
I bought the foaming kind of cleaner that goes on one color and then once clean should magically change color so that you know you don't have any work to do at all. Well. I sprayed it on (and unlike the commercial in which it appears that it is sprayed on and at an undetermined future point the foam will go blue - wait, white - it started blue) and it immediately went from one color to the finalized "clean" color. I wiped away. And then I kinda scrubbed away. And while the tile did look better it brought up the notion that it was cleaner but not clean. Plus with my shower being so big, I broke the task into different sections. Also - it might have said on the container and I didn't read it, but the tile canNOT be wet. It has to be completely dry. So I had to further break up the cleaning process.

Ok. You are totally bored now, I can tell. The final point being: the shower is cleaner, not clean.
But I also cleaned at my toilet, which is pretty near sparkly, I'll tell you.

Perhaps all of this is my perfectionism, which is supposedly to blame for my procrastinationism. (procrastinationness? heeee.)

I also attempted to put away laundry - but mostly just put away bedding. I attempted to clean the guest toilet - which is grody. Ack. Gag. Boys are nasty. Girls ain't no picnic neither.
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We did come down early again this week and it seems to be working better. At least my week isn't so strained in the very beginning. We have finished the Percy Jackson audio books and have moved on to swashbuckling privateers - aka murderous pirates. It's fairly gross but at least it's different.

My friend B just shot me an email. She's having "a fucking asshole of a day." Let's all send her some good juju, shall we?

OOOH! Also: the #Occupy movement has not stopped. It has increased. See if it's come to your city/town. Support them. It's for all of us.