Yesterday, my beloved man spent nine hours roofing. On the roof. In the sun. The roof, he reports, was reflective.
He came home looking like a lobster, poor dear.
Nine hours! ROOFING! IN THIS HEAT!!!
goblinbox.com is moving one more time. This week, even! So, if you have trouble hitting this site, it may be that DNS is still updating. Please be patient.
Here’s my list of shit to do:
1. Migrate mail users. (done)
2. Migrate users. (done)
3. Install the following apps:
Movabletype, Ikonboard, LH10, Gallery
4. Take the old site down.
5. Back up all MySQL databases.
6. Export all MT blogs. Make backups of templates.
7. Export Rants content.
8. FTP entire site to local machine.
9. FTP needed files to new machine.
10. Set up subdomains: 2012, chaos. (done)
11. Import MT content.
12. Import Rants content.
13. Import Gallery content.
14. Have DNS updated.
15. Bang head on desk repeatedly. (done)
At least the new box has a nice, shiny new version of Plesk on it, with a browser-based SSH interface. *sigh*
According to this article, the U.S. leads the world in mental illness.
Huh. Aren’t we also the richest nation in the world? Could there possibly be a correlation between craziness and wealth?
Naw. I didn’t think so either.
I desperately want to blog and be amusing, but my head’s quite literally empty. Must have something to do with the distractingly warm summer wind and getting over the flu, and the fact that I’m rapidly becoming too tan to even need to be intelligent or witty.
Well, not really. I’m not THAT tan.
Yet.
Today’s earworm is Chaka Khan’s Live In Me, off of the album Masterjam (1979). It’s your basic full-on Rufus ‘n Chaka disco groove with dirty lyrics, and it’s thumpin’ and I love it. It’s stuck in my head because I spent all day yesterday listening to this fabulously weird and terribly European mix I downloaded off this blog called troubled diva. I have no idea what the guy actually does for a living, but I swing by his site occassionally because he posts these 1-to-2 hour mixes once in awhile that have all kinds of crazy fun stuff in them, like French and Indian pop.
The mix one I’m obsessing on right now is called Back To Mine #1 and it’s here, and you could even download it for yourself —
— if only I could remember my own fucking directory password! (Yeah, yeah, I think I’m so clever with my nifty little .htaccess file, and then I go and forget the damn password. Soon as I remember it, I’ll post it so you can get in and download yourself an hour’s worth of fun mix.)
~ ~ ~
The login is username “file” password “exchange”. Without the quotes.
I’m currently on a Six Feet Under kick, catching up with the characters after not watching it for a couple of years. (TiVo! TiVo! TiVo!)
The final season starts tomorrow night at nine.
Last night I wrote a big long post about how fucking shitty I felt on Friday(*), but then I lost it – sometimes browsers just eat things. Then a huge storm rolled in and I had to shut my computer down.
Brett and I walked up to the top of the driveway, it was around ten last night, and watched the light show for a bit. Lightning was crackling across the sky, the clouds were huge and forboding, and the wind was fresh and cool. I love Iowa summer storms. They’re huge, and loud, and beautiful, and scary, and the Northwest has nothing on them. They’re amazing.
“This is so disco!” I squealed, staring in awe at the flashing clouds. Brett stood beside me, solid and warm, and the wind whipped around us.
“We’d better go in. It’s about to start,” he said, and taking my hand he headed back toward the house. His weather sense is uncanny; the moment we stepped inside the rain came.
Stella huddled under the stairs in the basement for the duration.
~ ~ ~
(*) In a nutshell, I woke up Friday fevered and sick, with a horrible painful tightness in my chest. I was in that muzzy, fuzzy space that is sickness and I did not dig it.
If that weren’t enough, the whole day was basically a never-ending goddamned panic attack as well.
And on top of all THAT, my period started. Which is impossible, because i just had one sixteen days ago, and I’m supposed to be ovulating right now. MY HORMONES ARE TOTALLY FUCKED. Apparently I’m not producing enough progesterone to keep my uterine lining IN MY UTERUS, where it belongs.
Friday was about enduring. Just getting through the day, one minute to the next. It was, in point of fact, probably one of the two or three worst days of my entire life.
I have an appointment with my midwife next week. She said in her email, “Let’s see…pap, full exam, check your hemoglobin, etc, etc, etc. Also, straighten out your hormones, stop that infuriating mid-cycle bleeding, resolve all emotional/mental/physical/psychic symptoms… yeah, that will cost you $75.”
I love my midwife.
(This may be TMI for some guys, but I doubt it’ll hurt you.)
So my body is fucking pissing me off and I just want to bitch about it. I’m not trolling for “there, there, dears;” I just want to fucking complain.
So.
Over the past few years, I’ve gone from being a happy, healthy, well-adjusted creature to being a fucking wreck. I now have “panic attacks,” of all fucking things, and my fertility cycle went from being totally predictable to being completely fucked up – and this means, of course, that my hormones are fucked up… Which means I’m fucking psycho.
I do not want to be psycho. I enjoyed being a groovy, rational, normal chick. I am now moving into the fringes of “she’s fucking crazy” territory, and it’s not because I’m a bitch, or stupid, or lazy. It’s because my body is ON CRACK. And I don’t even think it’s my fault.
I sometimes spend entire weeks suffering multiple panic attacks a day. Right now I’m totally amped and freaked out, and I’m bleeding when I’m supposed to be ovulating. I want to fucking cry but I’m too tense to enjoy that kind of release – my bloodstream is full of adrenaline and my heart’s skipping beats and I’m going to HAVE TO go work out shortly just to get through the hour without feeling like I’m going to fucking explode.
All this shit is due to some nebulous hormone imbalance… maybe. Or early menopause. Or maybe I’m just going fucking crazy, I don’t know. Sometimes I can’t even deal with my very easy day job because my panic symptoms are so bad.
The person I used to be hated working out. I still do, but I’m DRIVEN to it.
I’m now afraid of stimulants because they seem to increase the symptoms. (The upside is that I’ll probably quit smoking because I’m rapidly becoming afraid of nicotine.) I feel helpless because I am, on the whole, quite healthy… I just spend SO MUCH GODDAMNED TIME FEELING LIKE SHIT.
I’ve turned into a fucking roo: I can’t even drink coffee any more because it sets off my adrenals. Dude: I can’t DRINK COFFEE ANYMORE, let alone do any partying.
My libido is wrecked. It’s a total roller coaster. I either do not think about sex at all, or I think about nothing but. It’s all or none, and it’s driving my husband nuts because he has no way of knowing from week to week which wife he’s coming home to. Is he gonna get laid, or am I gonna look at him like he’s a fucking retard just for suggesting it?
I’m infertile, fine. I don’t care. If my hormones want to be that fucked up, fine. But they couldn’t stop there – nooooo. I have to be in a body that can’t stop pumping me up to run away from dangers that AREN’T EVEN THERE, that is so stressed and tight I get dizzy when I stand up, that has now decided to bleed all the time rather than have a normal monthly cycle…
I can’t get out of my body. I can’t stop monitoring it because it’s keeping me in a chemical state of hyper awareness. I can’t sleep more than five hours in a row, I can’t even have my period on time, I can’t get through a day without at least one panic attack. I am getting TOTALLY sick of this.
Best part is, it’s either a thyroid imbalance that’s so subtle no one will ever treat it, OR menopause (which isn’t even an illness), OR “just” panic syndrome. There are no acceptable – to me – treatments for any of these conditions. I just have to live with it, and if it’s panic syndrome I also have to live with the guilt that it’s my “fault” and I’m “doing it to myself” somehow.
Trust me – I see exactly how, when the symptoms start, I get so upset BECAUSE THEY SUCK SO FUCKING BAD that I make them worse. But the original cause? That’s a physical problem of some kind. I’m certain. Some hormone, telling lies to my body.
On top of all that – the fact that I’m supposed to be ovulating but am bleeding instead, and that I’ve been having multiple panic attacks a day for several days – on TOP OF ALL THAT, I’m fucking sick, too. Stuffy sinuses, snot, irritated chest. And I can’t hold still. And my heart is thumping. And my shoulders are so tight I can barely feel my arms.
Fuck this, that’s all I want to say. Fuck this. I want to feel normal again.
——–
Ever wondered what our old eternal-project-from-hell farm looks like these days? Well, the flash is broken on my digital camera (and there’s no real reason for you to see the interior anyway), so take an exterior tour of the property as it currently looks here. Seventy lovely images of rural living! Now with more canines!
Health
I feel better. I’m still stuffed up, though, and woke up with a bitch of a headache. And I’ve been having several panic attacks a day for about five days too, so that fucking sucks rocks.
Pudge
But the weather’s nice and I’m browning up nicely. Why is it that pudge looks so much healthier and more attractive when it’s tanned?
My motto: If you’re gonna be fat, you might as well be tan.
Legal
The hospital has agreed to waive my e-room bill in exchange for my never mentioning them on my blog again, removing all past mentions, clearing cached content from Google, and agreeing not to sue them for malpractice.
They capitulated so rapidly that Brett thinks I probably had a viable malpractice suit. His eyes actually lit up just thinking about it. He almost told me not to sign the agreement. Lucky for them, I’m not the suing type.
Avarice
I want a new cell phone. I want a new Pocket PC. I want a new iPod with a bigger drive. I want a full-body deep tissue massage. And I want my fucking house remodelled.
Pics
Speaking of our house, here’s an exterior tour. I took these pictures the day before yesterday.
God, I love our property. When our house stops being such a dismal piece of shit it will be SO AWESOME! I spend a lot of time sitting on our incomplete porch ’cause it’s the nicest place there is.
My throat hurts, and my tonsils are huge like softballs.
Sniff.
VSCO
Instagram has become unusable crap, so please click the icon below to see my latest pics.
4 random books from my Library!
