This was the least disturbing image that came up when I Creative Commons image searched the word naughty. I don’t know what’s naughty about a rusty old train, but it is an apt metaphor for my brain, so I’m keeping it. Also, never Google image search the word naughty. Just trust me on this one.
Great. I typed “naughty” too many times, and now it looks weird. Ever do that? Try it with the word “word” for a completely meta “that word looks weird” experience.
Hi. I haven’t written like I promised. Just me and eleventy bazillion other bloggers out there making empty promises to nobody reading our crap to write every day. Don’t mind me over here being so original. And naughty. Ugh. There’s that icky word again. Now I hate it a little.
I had a good excuse for the day after the day after New Year’s Eve, and that excuse is that I’m too old to stay up chugging wine and champagne until 3 in the morning without it kicking my ass for 2 days afterwards. I was still exhausted the next day. I took a 5 hour nap that day, got up, ate something, then back to bed. Totally wiped.
The next day the kiddo went back to school, and I literally drive past the entrance to the gym on my way home, so there’s no escaping the guilt of driving past. Plus, I genuinely like the way it feels to lift and push heavy things around. Always have. So I have worked out every single morning, no exceptions, since the end of winter break.
I do strength training on favorite machines, and then at least 1 mile on the treadmill. Sometimes I come home and do a cheesy DVD that offers a really great ab/core and chest/arm free weight workout.
But really, exercise helps my brain. I feel less anxious and/or depressed if I exercise. I also feel less anxious/depressed if I take Xanax. So I do both.
It’s a living.
I’m presently trapped in my living room on the couch with a cat on my legs. My mouth is dry and I’m rapidly dehydrating. I’ve been here for hours and I want to get up, but my cat is apparently cold, so instead of getting a drink, my family will eventually find my dried skeletal remains under a burned-out laptop. The cat will be asleep, and somehow still very warm. My husband thinks she would eat my fingers first, but my money’s on the eyes.
Always on the eyes.
So my excuse for not writing every day is life. I committed to writing daily, and then watched as my body betrayed me by needing extra sleep, as I decided to prioritize my physical health over writing. I seem to be either too busy or too tired to feel like it. I’m still going to try, but it’s been an interesting revelation, watching my daily writing goal clash directly with my energy levels.
I’m diagnosed with hypothyroidism, and extremely, dangerously low levels of vitamin D, which I discovered after blood work and a visit with an endocrinologist last year. My life had devolved into a haze of barely-living exhausted moments broken into chunks by what I called “death naps,” because I woke after 2-3 hours wondering what day it was, where I was, and if I’d been drugged. They were in no way the rejuvenating and delightful naps we adult humans know and love. It felt like I was living with a low-grade flu virus all of the time.
My blood work was great except:
*My thyroid had shit the bed.
So… no metabolism! Girls love having no metabolism in a country with completely unrealistic beauty ideals that render us invisible with 20 extra pounds on our bodies! I’m worthless and don’t matter to men! This is awesome!
*My vitamin D blood number, which they prefer to be 30 or higher, ideally closer to 50, was 12.
That’s right. I basically had rickets. I’m allergic to dairy and have had basal cell carcinomas burned/cut off, so no sun for me. This means I’m supposed to be supplementing with vitamin D, but I wasn’t, so extreme deficiency.
I did some research and learned that the vitamin D deficiency had as much to do with my crazy exhaustion as the low TSH (thyroid hormone) levels. The doctor got me on a prescription for both, and I immediately had more energy.
But I’m wondering if they’ve stopped working because my body adjusted last year to them and they had to be upped. Then blood work again. Then the doc said we were cool, see you in a year.
And over that year, I’ve gone through good phases and exhausted phases. I’m getting my yearly blood work at the end of this month, so we’ll see if maybe the meds need bumping up or something.
Or maybe this is just getting older. Or allergies. We like to blame everything on allergies where I live. That’s a fun game. No, it’s not the avian flu, IT’S ALLERGIES.
The phone alarm I have set to remind me to pick up my kid from school is going off, so this is the end of my extremely important and fascinating typed transmission for today. I’m sure you’ll be waiting with bated breath for the next batch of writing from your favorite flaky liar.
Hey, at least the phone alarm just scared the cat off my legs. I’m free! I’m bleeding from where her claws dug into my legs, but I’m free!
Off to sit in the car rider pickup line, which is a level of hell Dante forgot and a whole other piece of writing (seriously… car rider line etiquette, people… learn it, love it, and then fucking LIVE it).
Happy whatever the hell you want to be happy, Imaginary Reader.