Tangled Grrl

I'm so happy it's Friday. This week is yet another in a long line of weeks trying desperately to kick me in the ass. I started my week getting notified of downsizing at work. And I'm one of the ones who had their name drawn out of the sorting hat of downsizing. Or maybe it was chosen by the man behind the curtain? I'm not sure since they aren't saying how we were picked. It doesn't really matter, since once you're on the list, you're on the list. It's a shame that the list isn't one that will send me to the college version of Hogwarts, or to an advanced Jedi school, but I suppose I'll deal with it the same way I deal with everything else - I just do. Yesterday was my first pain doctor appointment. And let's just say after the first few days of turmoil filled fun this week had given me, I wasn't sure how that was going to play out. I got lucky though. This guy isn't a jerk. He also isn't an egotistical maniac. He actually

I don't know about you but I sometimes have most of my most random thoughts when I'm doing menial tasks. I think it's because my hands are busy doing something so routine that my mind is free to ponder and wander. I was getting ready for the day today and I started thinking about the paperwork I still have to fill out for the pain doctor appointment this week. There is a question about whether I have ever been diagnosed with depression. And that question is pissing me off. I'm not sure how to answer it. So I've been avoiding the paperwork. That made me start thinking about the times I've been prescribed mood stabilizers. When I was a teenager, I had issues with anxiety and depression. I'm older now and have the benefit of hindsight and I started thinking about what prompted all of that. I think part of it was the realization of how big the world is and how small each of us are. I know a lot of it was puberty and hormones and not knowing how to deal with em

I've held off on writing about this, mostly because I was too overwhelmed. Too pissed. Too frustrated. Too sad. Just too everything. Here's my super venty rendition of how much I hate dealing with my medical nonsense. I had my first appointment with my new primary care physician last week. It didn't go super well. I thought parts of it went well, but I'm not a great judge of that, because of my whole new doctor anxiety thing. They checked me in, gave me the normal, tell us all about yourself form, and sent me in to have my vitals checked. I talked to the nurse, explained for the third time that the medications forever linked in my chart from my ER visit are the correct medications, wrong dosages. I explained I needed one of my medications refilled, I only have two days remaining. I even brought in the prescription bottle. I also explained why I had been in the ER and that yes, I had originally made this appointment to see the doctor to get a referral, but things got b

Saturdays are sometimes my hardest days. Those are the days that I used to call Mom for absolutely no reason other than to ask her what she was doing, or ask her how she was feeling. Mostly it was just a good day to reach out and catch up with her. It wasn't unusual for her and Dad to be off doing something with the Club or off to the casino, but she would typically still be around at some point to shoot me a text or to call me back at some point. Right now Saturdays are really hard. Because I have my big MRI coming up and I'm in the middle of another flare up and I really want to talk to my mom. In the middle of the day yesterday, after I finished up some household chores I felt capable of doing, I sat down to rest and I looked over and saw the bag of crochet work I had taken from Mom and Dad's house. It was a project my mom had swiped from my aunt to finish for her. And I took to finish when my mom no longer could. And the tears started. Because this was the kind of day