* go to the chiropractor
* cut my toenails
* pluck my eyebrows
* quit eating fried foods
* drink even more water
* do more yoga
* get my teeth cleaned
* learn to fucking floss on a regular basis
* balance my checkbook
* write to my mom, grandmother, and aunts
* pay off my fucking credit cards
* take a nap
* buy more chamomile tea
* buy some valerian
* file my nails
* get my nose pin cleaned at a jeweler’s (or buy some jewelry cleaner)
* have my wedding ring re-sized (it’s too big)
* buy something to read (I’ve read all the treeware in my house, and all I have on my PPC is erotica I’ve already read… like a year ago)
* pay our mortage & May balloon payment
* go grocery shopping
* wash the blue dog, who stinks to high heaven
* clean the shower
* dust for cobwebs
* replace blown fuses in the Jeep
* wash something to wear to the gig tomorrow night
Tonight I’ll be back over at TB’s. Apparently we’re re-recording a track called I Am because there’s something hideously wrong with it, something so insidious and evil that I FAILED TO NOTICE IT AT ALL WHEN I RECORDED BACK-UP VOCALS ON IT THE WEEK BEFORE LAST. What this means is that the CD master has NOT gone to Iowa City and is NOT being pressed as I type.
What it means is that J’s album project is way the hell behind schedule. (Which doesn’t really matter, in the long run. I just like to complain.)
Anyway, tonight we’re re-recording an entire song. I will probably not get home until after midnight. Tomorrow we’ll be rehearsing in the afternoon – the entire band, together, for the very first time – and gigging at night.
And while I’m singing “religious music” (to quote my dad), he and Bread will be eating dead deep-fried chickens at the Mt. Hammil Tap in honor of Chuckie’s birthday. (My father doesn’t even know Chuckie, that’s how much he loves those fried chickens!)
I’m just glad I don’t have to go to Mt. Hammil again. A girl can only have cocktails and a salad bar for dinner so often.
Since my dad has been here, he’s fixed the Playstation, the X-box, my Apple headphones, the washing machine, and a bunch of other crap. He even tried to get the water pump off the old Ford.
Now he’s bored.
I will totally send him to your house to fix your broken shit, all for a very reasonable $45 an hour (for me) plus all the beer he can drink (for him).
Any takers?
While it’s not true that they’ll be giving your cell phone number to telemarketers in the next few weeks, it’s still never a bad idea to run over to the National Do Not Call Registry and enter your phone numbers – even cell numbers – anyway.
All store-bought marinara sucks. I know because I’m lazy and I’ve tried them all. They all suck, even the ones with Italian names and even Paul’s. I simply cannot understand why they’re all so sickeningly sweet. Ugh. So I’ve taken to making my own again – and it’s so easy there’s really no reason to buy pre-prepared pasta sauce in the first place, unless you’re EVEN LAZIER THAN ME.
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Holy shit, my layout prayers have been answered! Nifty Corners tells how to make rounded corners without images! I AM SO HAPPY!
Check me out: I’m an ENFP. What type are you? Do you find the results to be accurate? If so, how? How the fuck could they possibly be accurate? The questions cancel themselves out, there aren’t enough to allow for re-wording to bring out the ‘deeper’ opinions we have of ourselves. I think even if you’re as honest as you know how to be, you still end up choosing things you want to be rather that what you currently are. I read several of the results, and I can identify with half of them. It’s like astrology, which I totally identify with. 😉
I’m at work now. Been solving the weird little email and DNS problems which came in the night to my inbox.
The light’s blinking on my phone but I’m not quite up to voicemail yet. I wish that little light would just fuck off.
My heart’s thumping wildly every few minutes, just to keep me on my toes.
I’m drinking a Nissan thermos full of chamomile tea. (It’s significantly more subtle than, say, Xanax, but it does help with the stress of a geeked out amygdala!) (And here is a bunch of useful info on herbal support for anxiety, should you happen to care.)
I’m wearing my pajamas, more or less, under a skirt and a massively oversized fuzzy I stold from Mr. Brett. I did manage to bathe and put my contacts in, though, so I’m not totally wretched – just mostly wretched.
All I want to do is go to sleep. I AM SO TAKING A NAP THE VERY MINUTE I GET HOME TONIGHT. If I can, that is.
My adranaline issues have been practically absent for the past few weeks… until last night. I mean, I’ve had extremely mild episodes of symptoms, but nothing worth mentioning.
Around 10:30 PM I felt a huge lurch in my chest and I became dizzy and utterly freaked out. I actually put my finger to my neck to see if I still had a pulse. I did, of course, but it was rapid as hell. I went from drowsily drifting off to sleep to TOTALLY freaked out, sweating, antsy, and uncomfortable – in less than a quarter second!
Ugh. Here we go again. This is so not fair.
I was really tired but WAY too amped to sleep, so I got up and wandered around the house. I paced, drank water, did yoga, knitted a few rounds, paced some more.
I finally got to sleep, but I woke up every time Mr. Brett moved or breathed. And I woke up when he got up this morning, which means I got very little sleep last night. Right now I’m exhausted, amped, and too freaked out and uncomfortable to be able to sit in a chair for hours on end (which is why I’m not at work yet). I’m just waiting for this little episode to pass.
I gave my dad the Jeep so he could go run some errands in town.
I’ve had three or four super scary waves of this stupid hormonal shit so far today; it’s awful. I know intellectually that all these symptoms are the same ones they always are, that I’m going to be just fine… but there are moments, at the height of another adrenaline dump into the old bloodstream, that I feel like I must be dying.
It’s so stupid. I feel pathetic. My heart is POUNDING and I’m way over-oxygenated. I wish I could convince my body to stop doing this, but the things that usually work aren’t working so far today… yet. I’ve done sun salutes, this Nine Pillars meditation thing, japa, water, breakfast, and an extended-release St. John’s Wort capsule. I should be back on an even keel ANY TIME NOW.
I’m off to try and meditate… again. I hope this smooths out so I can GO TO MY DAY JOB. I want to fucking cry. I know intellectually that my glands are freaking out and telling my body all kinds of crazy lies, and this is causing the rapid heart rate, panting, sweating, dizziness, fear, shaking, and random pains, but I FEEL like I’m fucking dying of a heart attack. I’m tired, nervous, and I feel guilty that I’m not where I’m supposed to be, even though I know I couldn’t stay there even if I went – I’d have to leave my desk every 15 minutes and pace around the block.
Waaah!
I occasionally tell people that this condition is the result of living wrong for so long, because that sounds more interesting than just being a big dork. Ah, if only I had been that coke whore I always wanted to be!
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This article is disturbing: Doctors Influenced By Mention Of Drug Ads: Offbeat Study Finds Familiar Brand Name Can Evoke A Diagnosis Of Depression.
Apparently if you drop the name of a med you’ve seen on TV, you’re statistically more likely to walk out of your doctor’s office with script. (If they trust us to self-diagnose so readily, why can’t I call in a freaking codine cough syrup prescription when I want one?)
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Instagram has become unusable crap, so please click the icon below to see my latest pics.
4 random books from my Library!
