Pity Party for One, Please....

Today, I went to see Dr. Lyme.

I had lots to report.

Since we began the process of looking for, financing, and closing escrow on what Princess calls, "Our Forever House", things have gotten dicey.  Symptoms I hadn't seen in MONTHS were back.

Once things settled down, some of the nastier ones went away.

But, some remained.  You know, like strange bugs in the rice.  One day they appear.  And, until you feed the rice to someone you don't like, you're stuck with weird bugs.  Or something like that.

Anywho.

My fatigue is kicking my expanding ass, and my hands are starting to become more and more useless.

But I should be better.

RIGHT?????????

I mean, I have been on antibiotics for 19 months.  MONTHS, people.

azith. doxy.  clarith.  amox. rifampin.  levoquin.  injectibles.  gulpables.

stomach aches.

And all the other joys that go with prolonged antibiotic usage. So, on paper I'm fine.  Just ask the IDSA asshole that refused a PICC line---he says "there's nothing more I can do, you've had all the drugs I would recommend.".  Fuck that guy.

In the meantime, I am SURE I get the side-eye from people that still don't know why I'm hardly ever at work.  When will I get used to working 10-15 hour weeks?

How about never?

All I want is remission.  Unfortunately, there's no test for that.  No, "if your blood work comes back between 50 and 75 whatevers, that's remission, and we will change your treatment and stop taking so much of your disposable income."

Instead, it's more like, "When you get to a place where you don't want to spork your eyeballs out CONSTANTLY, we will give it a couple months.  If a major life event doesn't put you into an emotional, financial and physical tailspin, THAT'S remission.  Enjoy."

So, for those keeping score, I'm still doped up on a variety of drugs.  I still hemorrhage cash into various doctors' student loan debts, I'm still virtually worthless at work (because when I AM there, I get tired, and can't hold a convo for more than 10 minutes without looking like a lobotomized sloth that mistakenly took Ambien instead of caffeine pills).

I still work minimally, ----can we all just take a moment to pause for my awesome job? Because if I didn't have the job I have, I'd be sitting around, applying for SSI, and waiting for my "settlement"----there's just no way to be sick and keep a roof over my head when my disease doesn't officially exist, ya know?

I AM improving.  Just not at the rate that would please an over-achieving workaholic energizer bunny.  So I'm trying to be that, less.

And, writing-wise, I haven't been feeling it.  I don't know if it's a lull, or writer's block, or just an issue of being sick of writing about the same old crap.  Health, blah blah blah.  Pills, blah blah blah.  Fat ass, blah blah blah.

I will try to do better.

Fortunately, I have this great therapist that has taught me to not beat myself up over every little thing.  It's like killing kittens, then hitting up the confessional.  Fail to write? I'm okay with that.  Forgot pills out of a passive-aggressive rage against the Lyme machine?  I'm okay with that.  Gobbled gluten with horrid gastrointestinal results?  I'm okay with that.  Easy-peasy.

Kisses,

Aimee

How to Cheat and Not Get Caught

My Acupuncturist, Dr. G, introduced me to a little bottle of heaven that will allow me to do what I have wanted to do for quite some time, with little-to-no repercussions: Cheat. 
I have never been fond of cheating.  You don't just hurt yourselves, people.  You hurt everyone.  But, as I have aged, I have learned that it is best not to judge until you walk a mile in someone else's leather boots (or something like that).

I never thought I would cheat, I really didn't.  It's not that I don't appreciate what I have.  I'm very lucky.  I have awesome kids (their craziness is only an indication they weren't switched at birth with normal children), my husband is endlessly patient and understanding, my work is fulfilling. 

Sometimes, though, that is just not enough.  You begin to muse about the good old days, when you could go off on a binge and enjoy all those visceral pleasures that were part of your younger years.

Like:

Brie.
Gouda.
Sourdough.
Mozzarella.



and, :::gasp:::
Pizza!!!!!


You see, I have found...
(cue royal horns, doot-----da da doot----da dooooooooooooot!!!)

With a few of these babies popped into my mouth, I can ONCE IN A WHILE (twice a week???) enjoy a meal out with friends without putting the server through the Spanish Inquisition. 

I feel my shoulders loosening already----it has grown quite tiresome, asking minute details about every ingredient of the poor servers at Applebee's.  I waited tables in casual dining, so I know what happens when customers become a pain in the ass.

And, I am pretty sure their spit isn't gluten-free.