The One Where I DON'T Stab People In The Brain With An Ice Pick

So, I'm off Cymbalta.  Off, off.  Done.  As in, I told the folks down at CVS they can keep their $6/day death pills, because I want to have a little more control over my symptoms. Even if it means all the pain relief I was getting will be gone. 

Which it is.  Pain? Back like a crazy stalker ex-boyfriend, with the same amount of passion and persistence.

And, because I couldn't get my latest primary to call me back, and guide me through the step down, I muddled through it myself, as those of you that hang on my every word will remember.

I was thrilled to not have the agonizing headaches that everyone online spoke of.

I was super stoked about getting off, and I seemed to be able to talk myself off the ledge when I was feeling like the only thing the people around me were missing was an ice pick to the eyeball.  I could be all, "Aimee, you're getting off the crazy juice, it'll be okay.  Put down the ice pick".  And that worked, mostly.

I also got kicked off my antibiotics, for the first time since January, because of eye issues.  Namely, every time I change my focus, like from a person to the TV to the wall to the computer screen, I would get a teensy bit dizzy.  (Currently, I'm at Day 15 of the dizzies, btw.  They are getting better, but not gone.  Or, I'm used to them.  Whatev.)

So, I'm detoxing, almost done.  Down 9 pounds.  Liver should be doing a happy dance (I recently got some labs that showed that my liver is pretty pissed off right now.  Not sure where to go with that, because just about everything I take taxes my liver.  Not to mention the wine.  Oh, GOD, the wine....).  But, I REALLY want to sometimes, occasionally, violently, persistently drive my car into the side of a building, especially if people that are pissing me off are hanging out in front of the building. And, I have tears building up in my eyes, pretty much constantly.  And not only during sappy commercials. 

I can't think straight (even less straight than normal), I'm not making sense even to myself.  So, Dr. Google and I have a little chat.

Seems that, coming of Cymbalta?  Pretty fucking epic.  All kinds of crazy shit happens.  It's like Big Pharma decided, "take our pills, please!  In facts, have a month on us!  But don't give them up, because we will fuck your world.  You will NEVER give us up, NEVER!"  Without the Rick Roll, I promise you.

(BTW, have you guys seen the Mad Men Rick Roll?  Fucking awesomesauce.  Truly.

Right?)

Anyway, these can be the symptoms of going off Cymbalta (they even have a fancy name for it, SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome) (I was super helpful to your eyeballs by only listing the symptoms I have, you're welcome):

•  Brain zaps-these can be like vertigo, or a dizzy feeling, and can completely throw off your thought process.  A true joy, I can assure you, especially when speaking to a group professionally.
• Dizziness
• Eye and vision problems (!!!!!)
• Agitation and anxiety
• Hostility
• Worsening of depressive symptoms
• Sudden-onset dyslexia 

And some other shit, that HAS to be related.  Gah.

Phew.  It's been a hell of a week, right?  Top it off with Sky King being gone for a field trip, and me having to work excessively for three days straight, and I'm borderline homicidal. And weepy.  Which, as I am sure you can imagine, one of my favorite qualities in myself.

My saving grace?  I recently met a fellow Lymie, I will call her D, that has had tons of success treating her Lyme with natural treatments.  And, while I was in the middle of trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, she popped up online.  Our convo was like this:

Her: What's up? Sorry, had a computer break for a few days...
Me: No worries.  I'm in the doldrums, I'm thinking it's from coming off Cymbalta, did you have this when you kicked it?
Her: Yep!  5HTP, you need it.
Me: :::consults Dr. Google for contraindications::: Awesome.  I need something, because I'm a wreck.
Her:  here's my number, check in in a few days, let me know how you're doing
Me: k. Thanks.

I hit a few more sites, looking for things that will help me feel less stabby, while NOT shriveling my liver like a 5-year-old-raisin under the couch.

This is what I found:
Bach Flower remedies.  Way back when, I worked in a few health food stores, soaking in the hippie-patchouli-granola vibe.  And everyone was totally down with the Bach Flower remedies, especially Rescue Remedy.  But, I didn't think some diluted flower juice would help me with shit.

Today, I was desperate.  And since the looney bin doesn't have a weekend drop box like the Pound, I thought it was worth a shot.

I careened on down to the local Hippie shop, and picked up some goodies: Rescue Remedy, Mustard Remedy, and 5HTP.  The girl at the counter was gabbing about Rescue Remedy and it helping her with anxiety, like, MINUTES after taking it.

So I got in the swagger wagon, and ripped that shit open like a junkie after a score. Drop, drop, drop.

And here I am, 2 hours later.  Feeling a teensy bit serene.  Certainly less homicidal. And, if things keep going this way, I might follow up with all my birthday celebrating I have planned for this upcoming week, I probably won't kill anyone this month, and I will likely attend my awesome vacation at the end of the month that I have been planning for over a year.  The trip I have wanted to cancel for a few days now.  Yep, it's been THAT seriously shitty. 

This shit? Not for the faint of heart.

Quittin' The Hard Stuff With Help From Dr. Google

*****You all know I'm batshit crazy, borderline psychotic,  and of questionable moral character.  But this time, I really need y'all to pay attention.  I AM NOT A DOCTOR.  I never even dated a pre-med student.  Please ALWAYS talk to your doc before doing anything stupid.  Pretty much what I'm saying is, "do as I say, not as I do".  :::ahem:::

I'm a complete pill junkie. 

Me, anti-pill.  Anti-western medicine.  Gobbling 30+ pills a day. Except when I forget to fill my 2-week supply containers, that is.  :::sheepish:::  But that doesn't happen much, I've gotten better about it, less ambivalent.

But, I'm over some of the pills. 

I ditched the Ambien.  Gladly.  My credit cards couldn't take much more, I assure you.

Next up: Cymbalta.

Many moons ago, when I was a sad, pain-filled fibromyaglia patient, before I new the depth of my health problems, they put me on Cymbalta.  They meaning the Rheumatologist I fired, and the first primary care doc I fired.  They said it would help with the constant pain in all my extremities, and the bonus it, I wouldn't be a crying stabby mess.  So I reluctantly began a 2 year journey on antidepressants.

They fucked me up.  I was quiet (like, serial killer quiet) for the first couple months.  MONTHS.  Not that Sky King didn't enjoy the break at times, I'm sure.  But quiet Aimee is you're-in-trouble Aimee.  Not good.  So, our convos went like this, mostly:

SK: Everything okay?

Me:  mmmhmmm

SK: Okay.

:::five minutes later:::


SK: Everything okay?

Me:  mmmhmmm

SK: Okay.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Then, I acclimated.  The pain was diminishing, and the side effects weren't intolerable.  I had to make some adjustments, because antidepressants are known to effect :::ahem::: desire.  So, mental fixes there. I had dry mouth.  CONSTANTLY.  Fine, whatevs, carry water.  It's good for me, anyway, right? Night sweats? Not fab, I can assure you.  Especially at 39.  Mood stabilized, so that I was more chill, less quick to anger, unlikely to hide bodies in shallow graves.

Then I had to up them.  Then, my insurance changed, and $6 a day for pills that trash my liver, keep me from enjoying a couple glasses of wine, and *might* be causing more side effects?  Nah.  Not so much.

You see, when you have to take a bunch of crazy pills for even crazier diseases, and you are constantly hit with new symptoms, new reactions, new contraindications, and you get to the point that you're all, "Fuck this shit.  What can I give up?"

So, of course, the ones that cost me the most, on many levels, are the first to go.

Since my most recent primary care doc, who I actually like except for the fact that he's regularly running two hours late, by 8:30 am, seemed unable to call me back about my desire to quit cymbalta.  So, I called Dr. Google.  He's always there when I need him, btw. 

It seems that when people are coming off cymbalta, the withdrawals are fucking brutal.  2-week migraines.  Murderous rage for one, please.  Sensory disruptions.  In the middle of all this, I'm already having issues with (I think) one of my antibiotics, that is fucking with my ability to see stuff.  Not good, right?

So it seems the message board say this:  Docs put you on Prozac.  Then, they wean you off Cymbalta.  Then, wean you off Prozac.  Easy peasy, as far as 6 months go.  Right?

Not.

So, I went back to the message boards.  They have one called, cymbaltawithdrawals.com.  What the what?

And it seems, there are people that have researched the pharmacology of the shit.  And each capsule is filled with little balls.  Each ball is coated, for time release. So, people went in, counted that shit out, tapered down.

So did I.  Because really, my street cred as a junkie wasn't quite up to par.

After three weeks, I'm not quite so homicidal.  Depends on the day, or minute, really. Mornings are rough, what with the "trying to get everyone out on time without casualties" thing.  Setbacks, like irritating landlords, stubbed toes, mounting medical bills, and stupid people in the car in front of me, and shit gets a little dicey.

But I'm done.  It's been 5 weeks, I tapered down slowly-if not so consistently-with my acupuncturist giving me stuff to detox the ickies out, and the promise that I would totally detox at the end of it, which I'm in the middle of, now.  and no one is wandering around, wondering why they have a hatchet in the back of their skulls.

Progress, I say. 

So, I'm fully committed to going with only the meds that have obvious need.  Yes, I could use to have my mood a little less psychotic.  I'm sure MANY others agree.  Especially the poor people sitting near me when my son is playing football, and the refs have a bad call.  And the people near me when I cuss out the morons in front of me while driving.  And a bunch of other people.  But, at the risk of humanity, I am siding with my liver.  My poor poor liver that has been through so very much.  College was taxing for it, and when I began having health problems when I was 12, things were not looking good for my poor little liver.  It's time for the damn thing to get a break, right?

I'm hoping, as is half of Northern California, to find something that will keep me from being a complete anti-social ass. 

Suggestions, and prayers for humanity, welcome.

Half A Cocktail Too Much

Like most people, I am constantly growing, learning new things.  For instance, I (along with my Girl Scout Troop) learned some basics about watercolor painting that I didn't previously know. Nothing earth-shattering, but I just heard a new perspective from someone who knows more about art than I do. Which isn't saying much, but still-I learned something new. 

Also, I recently learned a lot about psychotic episodes.

That was a lesson I could have skipped.

Remember, if you will, that I am on Cymbalta.  It's an antidepressant, but also helps with Fibromyalgia pain.  It helps TREMENDOUSLY.  But, like all medications, there are potential side effects.  For instance, it makes my mouth dry.  My solution is that I carry water almost everywhere I go, and I am persistently hydrated.  Not a huge problem for me. 

The insert that comes with the pills warns against using with alcohol.  I figured it was more like a pain pill, where alcohol just kind of gives it a boost.  Like a little kick, if you will.

This is NOT the case.  And I have learned it twice.

I know, you are probably shaking you head, all, "what a dipshit, she drinks with all the problems she has?  What an idiot.".  Hell, I drink BECAUSE of the problems I have.  It's called self-medication. It's a nice way to take the edge off a rough day.  Or to forget my body hurts ALL THE TIME.  Judge me if you want, I don't really give a two shits. 

So anyway.  About a year ago, I had a social engagement with a few other couples.  It was my turn to not be the driver.  And Sky King used to give me grief if I didn't use my "Passenger Pass" to its fullest extent. 

So this particular night, I used my pass.  I used, abused, and annihilated my pass. Fun Aimee got down with the pass, and boogied til her feet were as sore and red and chafed as the my thighs at a Weight Watchers Marathon.

I didn't sleep well.  Which made sense somewhat, because alcohol is a depressant and actually disrupts sleep,....blah blah blah.

The next day, I was exhausted, and most of the previous night was a big black blur.  As in, "Honey, call those people and apologize on my behalf because I'm sure I was embarrassing".  And I typically don't get this hammered.  Tipsy, yes.  Drunk even. Not obliterated.  Not that I didn't go to college or anything, just that drinking in massive excess isn't really my thing.  Not often, anyway. Anymore.  Stop judging.

So, I tried to nap.  I was exhausted, and just didn't feel quite right.

As I lay in bed, I noticed that I was twitchy.  I could not lay still more than 20 seconds without a limb moving involuntarily.  And I could not sleep.  What I was able to do was lay there, twitching, partially unconscious, while crazy shit went through my head.  CRAZY crazy shit.  Things I can't even admit to my husband.  It scared the absolute shit out of me, and only after I Googled "alcohol and Cymbalta" did I calm down enough to not insist on being taken to the ER.

Then a friend came by, that new a lot about my health situation.  I told her what I was feeling, and she looked appropriately horrified.  Not as in, "holy shit, I'm backing away slowly", but more like, "Wow.  I feel incredibly bad for you".  Turns out, she tried the same medication, and had the same reaction to a couple margaritas.

Since that time, I have slowly been able to enjoy a glass of wine again.  Sometimes two.  But that is about it.

Old dogs, new tricks?  I got this.

About a few months ago, Sky King and I went out, for a much-needed Adult Night.  We went to a bar to see a friend play in a band.  We stayed out late, enjoyed some much-needed freedom.  And I sipped 2-and-a-half Seabreezes (cranberry, grapefruit, and vodka).

They were strong.  But I was dancing, chatting, socializing.  And they snuck up on me. They were some stealthy mother fuckers. By the time I realized I was in the danger zone, it was too late.  And the next day we were having people over to swim and BBQ.

Once again, no sleep.  And during the night, my brain heard horrible things---dogs snarling and ripping at each other, children crying for help.  Over and over and over.  I even checked on Princess several times because I had envisioned her entrapped in some sort of rope-y contraption, and I was sure I would find her lifeless body hanging from her bunk.  Each time, she was fine, sleepy breathing sounds coming from her nest.

Two things got me through: 1) the understanding that my brain was playing tricks on me, and 2) Sky King would hang with me if it got too much to bear.

I made it through the night, told him in the morning.  He took good care of me as I twitched and shook my way through the next day.

I told my mom, and she said, "Oh.  Sounds like a psychotic episode."  Yep.  Specifically, substance-induced psychotic disorder.  A real treat, I assure you.

Now let me just be real for a moment.  I have definitely gained a certain amount of respect for people suffering from mental illness in the past year and a half. Depression is no fucking joke.  I'm working through it.  And as far as the psychotic episodes? Yes, I brought them on myself.  I didn't follow directions.  I fucked up.  But wow. 

I can't imagine how things would have played out had it been worse.  Had I been home alone.  Had I listened to my own brain, that thing that usually steers me right.  Okay, right-ish.

The What-ifs are hard to process. 

Hopefully, I have learned.  Only time will tell.

My Kids Can't Go To College, or, I Have a $30/day Pill Habit

Is "Junkie" with a "Y", or "IE"?

Shit just got real.

Why do people insist on denying meds to other people? Especially when those meds keep certain people from choking other people?

Here's a tip to pharmacy workers everywhere:
If the prescription is for antidepressants?  Fucking FILL IT. 

No joke.

Friday, I called in my refill.  I figured, "because I am awesome, I will give them til Sunday to fill it."  So I went by last night, and those bastards?  Closed.  They close at 6 on Sundays.  Fuck.

So I went home, ransacked my pill cabinet.  (Yes, CABINET.) Nothing. Instead, I had a glass-ish of wine.

I woke up, intent on hitting them first thing.  I was there at 8:30, right after the pharmacy opening,  after doing the "tuck and roll" with the kids at the drop-off loop. The pharmacy didn't have it ready. something about "prior authorization".

All I knew is, I had another refill, at least.  Gimme my shit. 

So I called the doc, stressed the importance of NOT going through withdrawals. The person on the other end of the phone did NOT sound concerned.  Fuck.  Again. Do you even know how hard it is to stress importance, while NOT swearing at people that aren't taking you seriously?

So I left CVS after an hour, thinking, "this is going to be a GREAT day.  My acupuncturist will have his work cut out for him today".

On the way home from work, I called Costco, to tell them I was on the way for 3 of my scrips.  Then I called CVS, purveyor of all that is anti-depressant, and said, "where's my shit?".

The dude was concerned that the cost was $174ish, with my new insurance.  I said, "Well, I'm not supposed to let it get out of my system, and it's been since Saturday, so I guess I will pick it up, and pay $174ish."  He was alarmed, but finally understood.

After Costco made me get in line 3 times (at the cost of $50 in snacks per line-standing), I finally left, and headed to CVS.

Meanwhile, the doctor's office had called. 

Them: We got your message about a refill?
Me: Actually, it was 3 messages.
Them: Oh.  how are you today?
Me: Seriously?  I need my pills. I have been waiting all day for someone to call.  I had my last dose Saturday.  It's not JUST that I'm crazy.  it helps with my pain.  WHEN I take it. 
Them: Well, the insurance doesn't want to approve 30 mg, two pills a day, for a total of 60 mg a day.  They want you to take 60 mg in one pill.  Will that work?
Me: Are you kidding?  Math is the issue?  How is that not the same?

......................

 Fine. Whatever.
Them:  Okay.  Well, I will talk to the doctor, and let you know if there is a problem.
Me: How 'bout, you call me either way? So I know if I can get my meds I'm two days late for?
Them: .........okay........
Me: Thanks!!!!  ::teeth gritted, lips pursed:::

By the time my day was done, I had spent over $250 on 4 different medications.  And spent 3 hours doing so. So college for the kids?  Not. Add this to the supplement bills, and I have an expensive habit.

My biggest accomplishment?  No one was stabbed. This time.

Sleeping Cutie

I'm cute.  I'm MUCH cuter when I am well-rested. So, if you are new to me and my blog, I will become increasingly attractive to you over the next few months. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I have begun to sleep.  Well, I might add.

Long story short, I have not slept well in about a year.  After a sleep study in which I slept at the hospital hooked up to machines while a stranger watched my every move on video, I finally got the results of that study:
I do NOT have sleep apnea.  This is great!  However, I still don't sleep well. This is bad.

So, after hemming and hawing, my doctor, Dr F (my Sleep Medicine Doctor) said she could give me some medication to try. These are what she recommended:

• Something based on Melatonin-this is a fat NO, due to my creepy realistic dreams.  Un uh. 
• Ambien and Lunesta. These are FOR sleep, and only sleep. I'm game, but all the horror stories about sleep-eating, sleep-driving, and sleep-shopping have Sky King a bit wary.  He's rightfully cautious, because of my "issues" with Nordstrom. But I sure would look great in some new boots after sleep-shopping---alas, we all know that's a treacherous path to go down.
• The next group are a group of older meds for anxiety-Sign me up, right?  They tend to make you sleepy, so right before bed is perfect.  They work with the Cymbalta for the Fibro pain, also fab.  So I get a script for Mirazapine.  

I slept!  Albeit, the night before a major cognitive function test  to address my memory issues which could have been planned better.
But, 4 days later, I am still sleeping!

:::cue angels and harp music:::

I feel good when I wake, but am having a hard time wanting to get up. Maybe it is catching up on a year's worth of good sleep? Maybe the med is too strong?  I'm going to give it a couple weeks, then make a firm assessment.


Yay, Sleep!

Up Them Meds

Back in February 2011, I was prescribed Cymbalta. Now, Cymbalta is an anti-depressant that has shown, for reasons unknown, to block some of the pain associated with Fibromyalgia.

I started it, immediately felt crappy-dizzy, quiet, withdrawn.  I knew it took a while to get into my system, so I kept at it for a week or so.  I was still feeling like shit with the dizziness, yawning, quiet and sleepy, so I called my doctor. She suggested I switch to taking it in the evening, as I wasn't sleeping very good to begin with. (Sound familiar, fellow fibromites?)

After about another week or so, I started to see many of the side effects diminish.  I was left with some yawning, a dry mouth, and decreased appetite. I figured, I will drink lots of water, stop eating so damn much, and get over the yawning.  Because guess what? My muscular pain was going away! I wasn't having as much burning sensation in my fingers, my arms weren't aching, my legs weren't so tired-feeling.  My mood had improved, PMS was getting better, I wasn't being such a bitch (chronic pain can do that to ya).

After about 4 months, I started to have some anxiety, my mood swings were back with a vengeance, and I was still having some pain in my joints. I was worried that, not only was a struggling with increased fibro symptoms, but Rheumatoid Arthritis was knocking at my door (my blood work shows the RA, but my Rheumatologist says that I am symptom-free, and is not treating RA at this time). 

I sent a message to my primary, who said to double my Cymbalta.

This seemed to defy logic.  Something worked, then stopped working.  Take twice as much.

Didn't sound good.  Also, I was going to have to deal with some of the mood issues when I increased-it made me very quiet, to the point that my husband always thought I was mad at him.  (Apparently, I have a tendency to talk constantly, and quietness is a sign I'm about to open a major can of whoop-ass. Who knew?) So, we battened down the hatches, and doubled up.

The quietness came back a bit, but not as bad as the beginning.  After about 4 weeks, I can say with certainty that my pain has decreased even more.  My dizziness is limited to when I get up too fast, and it seems to be working!

I feel fairly lucky, because many people have not had good results with Cymbalta-it seems to be a regular treatment option by the doctors, but most people find it to not be a positive addition to their treatment. Strangely, the doctors continue to prescribe it. Maybe because it still has a patent, and it costs $50 per month, with insurance?  I dunno.

 I have decided that I like the new, improved calm Aimee.  I know now that if I freak out at someone being unreasonable, they REALLY deserve it.  I LIKE not being such a crab.  Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to be a bitch most of the time? I'm guessing a few of you do, and I'm here to say that it's a pain in my ass having to keep up that reputation.  I find myself not flying off the handle as much, not swearing at the kids as much.  I like that.  I know that I have gotten quieter, less over-the-top-emotional-and-over-involved.  Not really missing that much.

I know my husband misses some of my crazy ways (what does that say about HIM?).  Hopefully over time I will even out a bit more. Otherwise, I may need to make lists of the obnoxious things I used to do regularly, and try to attempt a few now and then so he doesn't feel so confused.

Wish me (and him) good luck!

If I Only Had A Brain

Fibro Fog.  I heard about it. I was glad I didn't have it, it sounded irritating. A good friend complained that the pain was not very limiting, it was the fibro fog that bummed her out the most.

I have now experienced this.  I agree with my friend-I don't like it.  Not one bit.  Now that my pain is under control for the most part (thank you, Cymbalta), I must say that not remembering crap sucks.
One of my control freaky quirks is being right on a regular basis. This requires a good memory. Also, I am always on time (VERY annoying, I know) and I have always valued this quality in others.  My husband gets a "pass" because of all his wonderful qualities (and let's face it, if he's with me, he will be on time just to stop my bitching when we are running late....). I feel that people's perception of me is that I am a very "together" kinda gal. (Wow, am I like, 60?  In the 60's?).  Basically, I gots my shit together, and one of the biggest qualities that has helped me to keep up this facade has been my memory.  When you have some time to kill, I can tell you all kinds of stories in amazing detail, like my husband's stint in Mall Jail (yes, babe, I went there) or his pathetic attempt at a Valentine's gift in 1995, that almost got him killed (save for the 2000 miles between us)---I will spare some of the inappropriate details, though.  Needless to say, my memory rocks.  Or, rocked.

I had been muddling along, thinking I still had it all together.  Certainly glad I didn't have that fibro fog I had read about. Then, little things began happening. Just little ones. And SK had read up, and told me it might happen, and that I might have had some issues with it already.  Whatever.  Deep in the recesses of my mind, I had a little inkling that he might be a teensy bit right.

I think my moment of clarity (read: acceptance) came when the phones at my job got turned off.  Yep.  Wow, right?  Thank goodness I am not in charge of the utilities!  One of my right-hand women called (from her cell phone, of course), and very gently told me what the problem was.  I came in, and found three bills in my "to be paid" file.  Hmmm.  Not even a courtesy call? Sheesh!  So, an email went out claiming technical difficulties, and I jumped into the computer to take care of the rest. Is it "technical difficulties" when I technically forget to mail a check?  I think so, too.
Two days later, my other right-hand woman called.  The janitorial supply company and the parking company both had called, wondering what to do with the checks I had sent, for bills that seemed to have already been paid. After I finished blushing, I told her to give them calls back, and tell them to be thankful they weren't the phone company. She laughed, probably shook her head, and let me wallow in my forgetfulness.

Nothing like this kind of stuff to bring things into perspective, right? 

A few days after that, I lost something.  True to form, I have no idea what it was, but it was important at the time. Of course, I blamed Sky King-once again, true to form-his short-term memory has always been spotty, to say the least.  It's one of the things that makes me almost choke him. The only reason he has survived is that I get to blame him for almost everything, because he just has no clue if he really did whatever I blame on him (shhhhh) . As we walked around the house looking for it (cause it was due, or something), he looked at me, and said:

SK: You know, you have been forgetting things just as much as I do lately.Maybe this means you don't get to keep blaming me anymore!
Me: :::sheepish:::  Yes I do.  ::::sigh:::: But my heart's just not in it.
SK: ::::Smiles smugly, walks away:::::

From now on, I don't get to chastise him when I find the cereal in the fridge or the fake butter in the pantry.  I can't scowl at him when I am frantically trying to locate the permission slip. My favorite hat is not where I remember putting it, because it is where I set it down mindlessly. Really, the only time I can safely point the finger at him is when I find the item, and it has been stashed out of reach of me. (He's a foot taller, and puts things out of sight in desperation when people are coming over).

So, I had to devise some more systems to keep me on track.
As an avid Smartphone user (LOVE my Droid X), I use the calendar option. I have always used it to remember dates, meetings, appointments. Now, I have added in little things like, "email Mike about fish tank" and "look up yoga classes for Saturdays" and "bring in Adele CD for Becky" (isn't "21" an AMAZING CD?) and finally, "post bills and pay them". And, all day long, my reminder makes that annoying sound---because the pretty sounds I blow off.  And, I then make a conscious choice. I either do the task right then, or I put it off (on the smartphone, I can't rely on memory) until a time when I might be able to take care of it.  I even have a reminder to take my medication.  In the mornings, I have just vitamins, it's not as critical. But in the evening, I have a mix of vitamins and my important medication, which I should take at the same time each day. So, my faithful reminder goes off, and I swear, it sometimes surprises me. I'm like, "Hey! What is THAT? I wonder why THAT is going off....."  Which leads me to....

Pills.  First off, I had to take the whole "pulling them all out of individual bottles" BS.  I accepted the concept of pills, and lots of 'em, a while back. But, opening all those bottles (and trying to remember what and why for each one) was too much.  So, insert old lady pill sorter.

Desk. I have been a notoriously sloppy desk keeper.  As in, Geez, what kind of slob works in this pit. But, I cleaned it off (and even used some sort of spray stuff, and wiped it down!), bought some thingys to put stuff in and labeled them (after consultation with my two right hand women) and then...........

I used them. I even clean up the desk each day before I leave. I feel more in control of the situation. And, after I called all the vendors I had to see where I stood with my accounts (I claimed math aversion and complemented them so they would help me), I was aware of the whole situation and able to move forward, fresh.

Lastly, I put things away slowly. This has helped me to be more mindful of where things are. When I run around the house putting things away, I do it almost on autopilot, stashing things here are there. Now, I sometimes put things in places that don't make sense. So, I walk slower, and think carefully of where I am putting things, and I don't stop in the middle (usually....) until the item is put away.




Now, if I could only find the remote....