Friday, April 29, 2016

driving Miss Wendy

I went for my monthly migraine shot this week.  Of course while I was driving there, I started wondering why I'm driving so far for something I maybe don't even need.  I still had 86 migraines this year on it.  Maybe it isn't even working anymore.  Basically, I gave myself the opposite of a pep talk.  The kind of talk I imagine schizophrenics use right before they go off their meds and become homeless again.  'I'm fine, I don't need these chemicals in me.'

My logical brain overruled my emotional brain, and I went.  This time.  I imagine when this is released, and I'm the one deciding when to inject the pain of 100 red ant bites, that I may well delay it beyond the prescribed time.  As an aside, the nurses said some of the pain may come from injecting cold liquid into me.  They keep it frozen until my appointment.  Any of you scientists care to comment on the accuracy of that statement?

They also said that some of the older people with leathery skin don't complain about the pain.  First off, fuck off with your judgments.  Second, I prefer to think it still hurts them, but they've been dealing with migraine pain for decades, and they're the equivalent of Vikings at this point.  A mere minute-long burning is the much lesser evil of days' long migraines. 

Ironically, driving long distances can be a trigger for migraines for me.  So every trip to get this beneficial shot is a potential migraine.  That I didn't get one kind of makes me think this fkn shot is working.  Yay!

Remind me next month...

Wednesday, April 27, 2016


I've been lamenting my bathroom's floor tiles and the grout slowly crumbling away from in between them.  Every time I clean, some more comes loose.  My handy brother was on the phone with me the last time I was bemoaning this, and he assured me this was an easy fix.  I'm not handy in the slightest, as should have been obvious with my shoddy pool maintenance.

I ordered some easy do-it-yourself tube grout when I ordered my new (better fkn work) jar opener.  They both arrived, but I haven't had a jar to open yet.  I'll keep you posted.  I ordered two tubes of grout because Fuck you Amazon and your higher minimum order for free delivery charge.  And also because I wasn't sure how much I needed.

I couldn't even open the first tube, and I was fairly certain the jar opener wouldn't work on it.  Plus that was all the way downstairs.  The second tube opened easily enough, and I got started.  I was very trepidatious at first, but as I worked, my confidence grew.  I haven't finished yet because my legs started cramping.  However, the work I've done so far looks heaps better than previously.  Plus I feel an amazing sense of accomplishment.  Who fucking knew?!

The instructions said to thoroughly clean the area.  Which I did.  On my hands and knees with the Dyson.  It was like a clean room in there.  Until one hour later when I started noticing hair on the floor.  What the fuck?  I'd pulled my mane back with a scrunchy because I am a rebel and don't give a fuck if they're out of style (and I'm in my own home).  Kitten was sound asleep and not contributing to the mess.  And yet, both of our hairs were now on the floor.  Due to what I can only theorize as Wendy's Law: Hair travels at the Speed of Lint.

I might be ready to hire on at the Home Depot as an expert grout installer.  As long as I can use the stuff in a tube and can finish a small enough area before Wendy's Law kicks into effect.  :)

Sunday, April 24, 2016

what's in your pool?

A fkn dinosaur was in mine.  But a tiny one.  Or a GIANT curly-tailed lizard, the largest one I've ever seen.  Except I read they can get up to 11 inches long.  FUCK!!  That must include the tail, right?  Right??  In that case, maybe not much bigger than the one I rescued yesterday.  Let's hope I don't encounter any larger ones.  Especially when I need to interact with it.

This little guy did NOT want to be rescued.  He fought off that pool net valiantly.  I was scared of crushing a leg or a tail, so I kept approaching him gingerly.  I think I finally wore him down, doing laps down my pool (him, not me).  Plus the water was cool enough that it probably lowered his core temperature way below comfort level.  It was almost too cold for me. 

I forgot that most people (including my pool guy) use way more chlorine than I do (hence my pool always on the verge of green) because the smell of chemicals bothers me.  I hope Mr. Lizard didn't get poisoned.  I hope I didn't get poisoned either.  I could smell the chlorine while I was in the pool.  Yuck.

I didn't stay in long.  Once I noticed the bee hanging on my floaty, I was done.  He might have been dead already, but I wasn't taking chances.  That was enough nature for me.  :)  Yes, I potentially rescued him, too.

curly-tail clinging to the side for dear life

drying out and warming up in the sun

Saturday, April 23, 2016

life is a terminal disease

As Jim Morrison famously said, no one here gets out alive.  So much death this week.  Fortunately (for selfish me), no one I was extremely close with.  What the fuck happened this week?  Major earthquakes, beloved celebrity deaths, multiple execution-style killings.  It's all making my 49-hour migraine look like child's play.  Why was I even whining?

However, as I've been told, comparison is the ultimate thief of joy.  Does that apply only when I'm on the losing side?  I'm pretty sure gratitude comes into focus when I'm on the winning side.  Well, gratitude and guilt, of course, because guilt is insidious, like those tiny sugar ants, working their way into crevices.

But death is not to be feared.  It's easy.  Living is what's brutal.  Look at the suicide statistics that were released yesterday saying it's at a 30 year high.  Everyone has theories, but they all kind of underscore the point that life is fkn harder now.  Even as it has dichotomously gotten easier.

The death of someone is for the living to assimilate, not mandate, which takes away our illusion of control.  Scary shit.  Which brings us back full circle to fearing death, defined as either the ultimate loss of control or the ultimate way to control, depending on one's outlook.

Dunno about you, but I'm going to do something I can control and tell my friends and family how much they mean to me and snuggle my cat until I annoy her.

Annnd, she's annoyed.  :)

Friday, April 22, 2016

funky cold papaya

Now that the pressure of cleaning my pool every day has lifted, I want to enjoy my backyard more.  To that end, I want it to look better coiffed.  I saved the seeds from one of my recent papayas and planted them in a bare spot.  I put some in the sun, and some in dappled sun.  I hope at least one plant grows.

Who am I kidding?  I also like using them for drinks.  Just add rum, coconut water, an umbrella, and a straw.

I already scooped the seeds out

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

I am enough

Repeat after me.

I am enough.

Oh wait, we just learned that first person self-talk isn't as effective as third.  Man, I feel silly saying that in third person. 

Wendy is enough.  

Why yes I am a diva.  What gave me away??  :) 

I think I received a lesson from the universe yesterday.  Or at least that's how I'm framing yesterday's brutal migraine assault so that I don't fall into a well of despair.  I woke up feeling good, albeit a little guilty about paying someone to help me with a task that I was able to do (mostly) for a year.  Or at least a task that I felt I should be able to do.  I didn't do a great job at cleaning my pool this past year.  It was mediocre at best.

Boy howdy, was I glad I didn't have to get up and clean my pool filter, either last night or this morning.  I'm fkn exhausted and beat up.  It was a four-alarm migraine, which still isn't gone, but the klaxons have quieted down to a murmur.  Kitten didn't get a proper dinner for hours.  Neither did I, but I wasn't hungry in the slightest.  Now, I'm left feeling more grateful than guilty about hiring a pool technician.  Lesson learned.  I hope I can retain it.

My brother called and apologized for being so busy and unavailable the last several months.  That made me feel less like the burden I thought I'd been to him and a bit better.  I still lied and said I was fine when he asked.  What was I going to say?  Hey, glad you called finally, but I'm on my last thread.  Poor timing on your part.  It was easier to lie and hang up more quickly.  It's not as if he could do anything.  Any of you who suffer chronic pain know it feels better to not share your burden sometimes.  Except with those few amazing souls I trust to be compassionate and not feel uncomfortable around my pain.

Wendy is enough.  She can and will make it through this day.  And maybe,  just maybe, she will have a good hair day, too.

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

nobody does it like guilt

I'm feeling like a lady of leisure.  And a waste of space.  I've had exactly one session (that lasted five minutes) where someone else cleaned my pool.  And now I'm feeling guilty.  What the fuck.  I guess I haven't grown as much as I've thought.

I keep justifying it saying that I'm helping a local small business owner. Why do I feel the need to rationalize it to myself?  Why can't I admit it's too much work for me and overwhelms me?  I've admitted to my automobile anxiety easily enough.  No one (especially me) expects me to change my own oil

Doesn't matter that I'm low energy and perpetually recovering from a migraine.   Fuck my brain controlling my emotions, telling me to feel guilty.   There's no guilt in paying someone for a service, Wendy.  Talking to myself helps.  Allegedly.

Also, every single person (male or female, old or young) who I told about hiring a pool guy asked about his looks and/or made sexist comments.  It makes me wonder if they all deal with that.  And if it bothers them as much as it would bother me.  What does one call a pool guy as his professional title?  Pool technician?  And why are they all male?  I've never seen a female one, except a woman who managed the pool store. To be fair, those containers of chlorine are heavy. 

Sunday, April 17, 2016

talking to myself is healthy

Told you so!!

Okay, I never really told you so.  Or even told myself so.  But I never saw anything wrong with it.  It turns out it's a psychological tool, because of course it is, called self-distancing.

But, there's a catch.  You have to talk to yourself correctly.  In the third person, Wendy.  (Although sometimes I call myself Carol because it's funny and makes me laugh when I give myself Carol-pep-talks.  But that's maybe not part of the healthy part, so proceed with caution.)

Anyway, if you say I can do it, that's not nearly as effective as saying it in the second person (You can do it) or even better in the third person (Wendy is fkn amazing).  It's especially helpful when remembering unpleasant experiences.  Thinking in the first person allows one to get stuck in the memory.  Thinking in the third person allows an individual to gain insight or meaning without reliving the negative emotions they experienced when the event first occurred.

Perhaps it's a recipe for crazy.  I like to think it's the recipe for the sauce for crazy.  It doesn't make Wendy any flakier, just more savory.

Saturday, April 16, 2016

half dollar or golf ball?

Yesterday, some particularly nasty weather rolled into town and punched my brain a few times.  I was medicated most of the day (Excedrin for breakfast, anyone?) even while it was still sunny out -- the calm before the storm, so to speak. That's the apparent evolutionary advantage for migraines.  I get preemptively sick, and force my party to find shelter ahead of the bad weather.  You're welcome, fkrs.  Not everyone listened to me though because there was a local death due to lightning.  :( 

Once the bad weather hit, I was tucked into bed and safe from the elements.  I canceled my dinner plans by 3pm and hoped my friends adjusted their plans accordingly.  My phone kept blowing up with alerts from my weather app.  I got so many that I received a new (to me) notification letting me know that the app was significantly draining my battery.  

The hail warnings were the scariest somehow.  It went from 'you should probably go inside to avoid discomfort' to OMFG, SEEK SHELTER NOW OR YOU WILL DIE and then back again.  For hours.  Each new hail report changed the size from ping pong, nickel, golf ball, to half dollar.  That got me curious enough to look it up.  It's been a while since I've seen a half dollar.  I couldn't remember the exact size of it.  Have kids today ever seen one?

It turns out there's a whole official chart dedicated to hail size.  I followed along on Twitter, seeing that people all around me were finding hail outside.  I was curious to see if any landed here, but apparently not curious enough to get out of my warm, cozy, dry bed to check.  Can't fight evolution.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

pool boy tested, Totoro approved

In discovering (or remembering) my newfound independence, I've learned that I don't actually have to do it all.  It's okay to admit I can't do everything and to ask for help.  Or to pay for it.

I decided after fucking around with the un-openable chlorine tablet container that I would finally suck it up and hire a pool boy.  I'm doing a less than stellar job on my pool and not enjoying my pool in the slightest.  With summer coming up, and the rainy season only getting wetter, my pool will go greener faster.  It's light green again, by the way, because I procrastinated two days calling my neighbor to ask for the pool guy's number.

I went over to visit with Totoro.  We sat out by her nice blue pool, and it was lovely.  I admitted my defeat to her, and she applauded me coming to my senses.  I've asked around and her guy is the most reasonable.  Now that I'm getting refunded for the tablets, I might as well put that money toward someone else doing the labor and buying the chemicals.

We chatted about our families and friends.  And men!  Sssshhh, don't tell anyone.  She's 90-something, not dead, ffs.

Until her church lady friend came over.  Then we talked about politics, and I shut the fuck up after learning my lesson last time when she said she voted for Cruz because of his Christian values.  Gag.  We also spoke of church, of course.  And some new god movie that they're going to see.  Until I looked it up and saw it was rated 3.1 stars on IMDb.  I think Totoro may have changed her mind about going.  Oops.  Church lady will hate me now.

All I know about their religion is Martin Luther nailed his document to the Catholic church, which one of my old gaming friends taught me.  (Video games are educational, see?)  So I asked if Martin Luther King, Jr. was named after the original Martin Luther.  They both looked at me like what the fuck.  And said they didn't know.  Church lady said she doubted it because MLK was Baptist.  I whipped out my phone and looked it up.  Turns out he was named Michael Luther after his father, who went on a trip to Berlin and decided Martin Luther was a cool dude.  He came home and changed both their names.  Church lady was impressed and excited to share that with her church group.

And finally we talked basketball because they're both huge Miami Heat fans.  It's kind of hilarious.  One is 90+ and the other is 78 years old.  I looked up the time of the game last night and made them both happy.  I tried to bring up the Golden State Warriors and their quest to break the Bulls' record for winning-est season.  Neither one cared.  It's Heat or nothing.  :)   [Side note: The Warriors did indeed win last night and broke the Bulls' record for anyone who cares.] 

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

post-traumatic growth

PTG is a positive life change that follows highly stressful life events.  "Appreciable growth occurs within the context of pain and loss," which seems like a sucky way to grow.  Perhaps I haven't quite risen to a higher level of functioning than before, but that's where I'm aiming.  I feel like I've bounced back (finally) to the resiliency level, but haven't entered the PTG stratosphere yet.

There's a PTG Inventory that I took and started to score until I realized two things.  One, I had no key to score it.  And two, it felt counter-intuitive to get all competitive and try to get a good score on it.  Like if I'm really growing as a person, then numbers don't matter.  It was interesting to see what the focus was on though.

Much of this thought line came from finally getting my car maintained like a grownup.  I had most of the work the dealership recommended done at a private mechanic.  I asked him about the rest, and he said it wasn't necessary after inspecting my car.  Someone was gravely mistaken.  (I'm trying to be mature in my newfound PTG and not say LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE).

When I took the car in, I drove through a not as nice part of town to get there, and saw a chicken running around.  With its head still on thankfully.  That has nothing to do with my growth or my car.  I simply found it unusual to see chickens loose in a city that wasn't Key West.

While I'm off on a tangent, the young man who drove me home from the mechanic (and picked me up again) was highly entertaining.  Fkn millennials.   He starts telling me how great a driver he is and how he can multitask with his phone.  He can't.  And gets outraged when others do it.  Then he went on about strip clubs and women enjoying it, too.  I didn't think he was too much of a sexist bastard though because I overheard him speaking to his girlfriend on the phone.  He had the sweetest voice with her and asked about her day and how she was.  Awww.

Back to my personal growth.

I think of PTG, not closure, as my goal.  Closure feels like a lie we tell ourselves to make the pain stop.  Not only do I want the pain gone, I want joy, too.  I want to open my heart again.  Not just baby steps, but throw the gates (valves? that could be dangerous) wide open.  I want to be courageous and love without hesitancy again.  I'm not there yet, but it will definitely be on the path of my life's journey.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

peanut butter emergency!

I typically buy a certain brand of organic crunchy peanut butter at one specific store.  (I go through creamy vs. crunchy phases, and I'm in my crunchy phase now.)  But, I was at Target already, so I decided to try their brand of organic crunchy.  Big mistake.  Right when I was celebrating the pool chlorine tablet company calling me back and making things right with their un-openable container (more on that later), I tried opening the fkn peanut butter.

And I was hungry.  And cranky.  And it wouldn't fkn open.  I tried the rubber grippy things.  I tried banging the top at a certain angle.  I tried smacking the bottom.  Nothing.  Desperation was setting in.  I was kicking myself (figuratively) for not stocking up on my regular brand.  I was thinking this is why it sucks to be single.  Because there's no one to open my fkn peanut butter.  Fuck that!  This is exactly why I strength train.  Not to sculpt my arms, but to open my own fkn peanut butter.

I tried all of the above all over again, smacking it, twisting, swearing.  And pop!  It opened.  Nothing comes between me and my peanut butter.  Even if I had to bruise my hands to get it open.

It's messier than my usual brand.  By the time I was finished eating my snack, I had it dripping down my hand, my arm, and my chin.  Doesn't matter, had peanut butter.  :)

Back to the chlorine tablets that are un-openable.  The Southern manager called me back after consultation with his container engineers.  He said there's a vital piece missing that would magically allow me to open it.  He asked me for all kinds of info on the container and where I purchased it so they could track where/how it got damaged.  I asked if I could force the white doohickey through the orange thingamajig.  He advised against it for safety reasons.

Anyway, he offered me a full refund and is mailing me a check.  How nice is that?  I don't even have to return it to the store thankfully because I can't lift it, even with my sculpted, peanut-butter-opening arms, ffs.  Not sure what to do with it now.  At some point, I'll get brave and try drilling the top open.  And maybe not blow myself up.

Monday, April 11, 2016

invisible boyfriend

Fortunately, my family hasn't been hounding me about my personal life.  If yours does, you could rent an invisible boyfriend.  Or girlfriend.  Show your family proof (in the form of texts and photos because what else is there?) that you are dating someone.  You get to think up your own origin story and design him from scratch.  It sounds like a bad '80s movie, doesn't it?  What could possibly go wrong?  :)

Speaking of origin stories, it seems that most people meet online these days, so no one has adorable 'how we met' stories.  I kind of miss that and have mostly stopped asking.  Especially because people can be self-conscious about meeting through Tinder or similar.

And we no longer know how to talk to people in person.  Everyone prefers text, not that I'm judging, because text is my preferred method of communication, too.  It feels like an alternate universe to know that couples mostly don't meet in bars, grocery stores, or gyms.  I get it, because I've been that person who didn't want to be bothered while I was out doing whatever.  (Especially getting my car fixed.  That fkr.)

The curious cat inside me is wondering how this will evolve through the next generation.  Will they follow the same path and take it further with new technologies?  Or will they rebel against that and decide retro is cool again?

Sunday, April 10, 2016

cannot do a kindness too soon

"You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late."

  --  Ralph Waldo Emerson

Be kind to someone today.  In fact, try several someones.  Doing a kindness doesn't have to cost money or even much time.  It could be smiling at someone who needs it.  Or complimenting someone who doesn't regularly (ever?) get them.  Did you know there are people walking among us who never receive compliments?  How fkn lonely is that?

I plan not to see any people today because I'm an introvert (big surprise!).  Fortunately, kindnesses can still be done virtually.  Contact someone you haven't spoken to in a while.  Or, pick a random stranger on your favorite social media and be nice.  However, be careful of emotional vampires.  And worse yet, stalkers.

I'm digging my happier self.  This is who I am, and who I want to be.  Not the self-loathing, miserable wretch of the past year.  Depression truly does lie and tell me that I'm worthless.  I don't choose to believe it today.  I win!

Saturday, April 9, 2016

container engineers

Who knew that was a thing?  I bought a 40 pound bucket of chlorine tablets for my pool, which my dad had to carry because it was too heavy for me.  I went to open it yesterday, and there was no obvious or easy way.  I searched online, but couldn't find it in ten minutes or less.  I called the company to ask.  I read him the barcode.  I even emailed a photo of the top.

I was put on hold several times, and finally his answer was that I should return it and ask the store.  What the fucking fuck?  Dude, it's forty fkn pounds!  After much discussion and a few of his Southern apologies, he said he would contact his container engineers and get back with me on Monday.  I made sure to let him know that their competitors have easy to open lids, with foolproof step-by-step instructions.  His container engineers need to check their priorities.

If anyone has knowledge of this or a suggestion, send it my way please.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Easy peasy

Friday, April 8, 2016

fkn swindlers

I took my car for a much needed oil change.  I've no idea why cars give me so much anxiety, but maybe it can be traced back to college days when I had a mechanic keep breaking stuff to get me back a few weeks later each time.  So he could ask me out.  Fkn asshole.  And he admitted it.  Dumbass.  Anyway, I finally worked up my courage to get the oil changed for a fairly decent price at the dealership.  Yeah, yeah I know, but they've been pretty honest and reliable over the years.  I thought maybe dealerships had turned a corner.

So wrong.  When I went to pick up the car, they had a list of items I needed to fix ASAP, which totaled over $3,000.  YIKES!  My dad had picked me up from the dealership while it was being worked on and took me to his house for snacks and computer repair.  He also kept bragging about his mechanic and brought me by to introduce me.  And so he could eat one of their doughnuts.  :P

I called my auto-genius of a brother and asked his opinion.  He told me half the list was unnecessary bullshit.  Cheatsy fkrs.  And the other half was necessary maintenance but way overpriced.  However, I could call and haggle.  Fuck that shit.  I called my dad's mechanic, and he quoted me way under half price and threw in a power steering flush for free.  I made the appointment before my anxiety could make me weasel out of it.

What the fuck is wrong with me?  Why does this stress me out?  I wasn't overly inconvenienced.  I can afford the reasonable repairs (thank you tax return).  The good news is I didn't need any Xanax or rum today, so that's a bonus, right?  And only a few tears were shed.  Fuck, what is the major malfunction inside my head?  I'm making a resolution today to start being more responsible with my car maintenance now that I have a trustworthy mechanic.  And he's never even seen my car yet.  :)

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

CGRP and chicks

I'm probably boring some (most?) of you, so feel free to skip this post.  It will be mercifully brief.  Here is the latest information about CGRP, the breakthrough migraine medicine that I'm testing in my clinical trial.  It's from The Diane Rehm radio show (which is a hint that this needs to be listened to and not read).

On the one hand, I felt a bit vindicated when I heard some of the leading neurologists act as outraged as I get about how little fkn resources are spent on migraine research even though it affects 75 bazillion people.

On the other hand, this is 50 years of migraine research culminating in the Holy Grail of preventative migraine meds, and I'm still getting 86 migraines a year.  Fuck my life.

I thought I was in a good mood yesterday and ended up pissing off one of my brothers enough to have him hang up on me.  Sigh, now I feel bad, even though I probably would tell him to shut the fuck up all over again.  What is it with people thinking that picking the scabs off my anxieties and stress will be helpful?

I ended up calling another brother who made me laugh and calmed me down.  YAY!  I got to hear his little baby chicks cheeping and peeping through the phone.  And because I want to share that happy feeling, here is a photo of some of his baby chicks.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

never 10

For any of you running Windows 7 or 8 who don't want to be automatically 'upgraded' to Windows 10, there is a small, trustworthy program called Never10 you can run on your PC which makes some changes preventing that.  It's simple to use and can be easily reversed. 

Monday, April 4, 2016

just because I don't wear a tiara

Doesn't mean I'm not a princess.  The tiara would tangle in my curls obviously, so it isn't very practical.  Plus, it would annoy me during a migraine, although the Star Trek migraine device does look cool and tiara-esque.  It doesn't work that well apparently, especially the US version.  Therefore, I remain tiara-less but every inch a princess, even down to the well-earned dirt under my fingernails.  But I'm jumping ahead.

Practicing happiness for an hour a day is more difficult than it sounds.  Particularly with a migraine.  Fortunately yesterday's migraine was mild (if that's not too much of an oxymoron) and short-lived.  I had energy to spare, so I cleaned my pool.   Damn you, mango tree, for dropping so many blossoms and leaves into my pool!  Omg, just goofing, I love you, don't forsake me. 

And energy enough to start cutting down some foliage which is growing too close to the house, slaying my own dragon if you will.  I have only a tiny handsaw, so this will take more than one day.  (Slaying my own dragon with a dirk.)  It's a 20 foot traveler palm, and I'm a little leery about what happens when it falls and how heavy it will land.  I'm hoping if I kill it slowly, the water will drain out and make it lighter.  Plus, I'm way too lazy to do it all in one day.

Does washing my princess hair with coconut curlada make me happier or does being happy simply feel better with clean hair that smells amazing?  As you might have surmised, I had an excellent hair day, although I'm not sure Kitten appreciated it as much as I did.

Be kind to someone today, especially yourself.  Not only princesses need the extra kindness.

Sunday, April 3, 2016

what's the status, Gladys?

I'm back, Jack!

I'm feeling so much better.  Yippee!!

Migraine gone.  Check.

Depression gone.  Check.  (ssshhh, let me live in denial today)

Pool swimmable again.  Check.  I even mustered up 5 minutes to clean yesterday.  I bargained with myself to clean for 2 minutes and then milked another 3.  Go me.

I've pretty much solved world peace at this point.  Once I wash my hair, I might just call it a crowning achievement of a day.

Happiness is a skill, and I am going to master it before I die.  10,000 hours makes me a master, right?  And before any of you smartypants tries to ruin my day by telling me that the 10,000 hour rule has been debunked, not for cognitive scenarios, it hasn't.

If I do the math, that works out to ~417 days, but that excludes sleeping and general annoyances which crop up.  I hate to rain on my own parade, but I'm pretty sure I'm not that happy during sleep.

[TANGENT: I won't even try to interpret the crazy dream I had the other night that was fueled by meds, pain, and constant ice on my head.  The good part is that I traveled abroad without suffering through the hours long plane trip.  I socialized with a bunch of people I've never met, none of whom spoke English.  It was bizarrely detailed and interesting.]

Therefore, excluding sleep, migraines, and general annoyances would then translate to 10,000 days of Wendytime because I could practice happiness for an hour a day, right?  That works out to approximately 27 years.  Are we there yet??  I'm making good time though, right?  :)

Saturday, April 2, 2016

revenge of the April Fools' Goblin

Crushing migraine last night, and today isn't looking better.  Three doses of Imitrex, including an injection, barely touched it.  I took an Imitrex/Excedrin cocktail this morning before even getting out of bed.  Fuck my life.  I have no idea what triggered it.

Sometimes I can sleuth along and deduce it was a major storm front that triggered me.  Or hormones.  Or Zika.  Or that one onion that snuck (sneaked doesn't seem correct even though it is) onto my burger.  I ate healthy yesterday.  And most of this week.  Who am I kidding?  Most of my last decade has been fairly healthy because I like to avoid this kind of pain.

Maybe the April Fools' Goblin gave it to me because I disparaged his holiday.  Several times.  Fuck, I hate the stupid bullshit jokes, and the people who encourage it and laugh at them.  I love to laugh and will find almost any excuse to, but those simply annoy me.  Or perhaps I was extra annoyed because irritability can be a precursor symptom to migraine.

Just when I was getting a handle on my pool cleanup, I'll be out of commission all weekend again.  Once this migraine finally clears (PLEASE PLEASE CLEAR TODAY), the postdrome is gonna be ugly while all these meds vacate from my body, and I rest from the racking pain.

The pool lightened to a friendlier shade of green and finally to blue yesterday.  I cleaned gobs more mango blossoms and leaves from the bottom of the pool.  Today will need more.  Maybe I can talk myself into 5 minutes of it.  Just 5 minutes.  Surely I can muster enough energy (without puking) to skim for 5 minutes.  Fuck my life.  And quit calling me Shirley.

Friday, April 1, 2016

fkn hate April Fools'

It's a day where it's socially acceptable, perhaps even desirable, to be an unfunny asshole.  This year, it started two days in advance.  Stop milking holidays, people.  This is why we can't have nice things.  And why Christmas displays go up before Halloween.

In other news, I wore my new boots yesterday.  With my thick Thorlos.  And they were comfortable as hell, albeit a bit heavy.  I scared Kitten when she heard me coming up the stairs the other day.  She didn't recognize my tread.  Now that I've worn them in the wild though, I won't be wearing them inside, so she won't have to get used to them.  I got complimented on them, which I'll take.  Does it still count if it was from a middle-aged mother of three?  :)  I haven't tried them with my skinny jeans.  Had to wear the boot cut for an ECG.

I finally tackled cleaning my pool.  Holy Fuck, it was filthy.  I did a shock treatment after scrubbing and skimming and swearing and sweating.  I let it run all night, and possibly it looks less green today.  After I wake up a bit more, I'll go out and scrub again.

I know they're hideous against that carpet.  Fortunately, it isn't mine.