Looks like Cowboy Murray slept through the oven timer again.
Well then. It’s been a decent week, all in all.
Especially if you squint while reading this.
I turned 40, which means that I can now call my friends who are still in their 30’s names like dear and honey.
I had a low key, yet very festive birthday party, an ice cream cake, many kickass birthday wishes, and a care package that arrived from my wonderful friend Mental Mama.
Thank you so much, my dear!
See what I did there, MM?
I got through my least favorite day of the year by writing some good memories of my father. I think that after all of these years of being miserable, he would be pleased that I didn’t mope about all day like I usually do.
I finally got the picc line out of my basilic vein, although now I have this tremendously sore bruise on the underside of my arm. I hated the damn thing, which had started to bleed and feel icky. I was able to take a decent shower for the first time in what felt like ages yesterday. Before that, we had to wrap my arm in Saran Wrap. I couldn’t get it wet or feed it after midnight.
Having one arm literally useless (they told me not to lift more than 5 pounds) really sucked the bologna pony.
I saw my regular doctor, and the infection appears to be gone. She said that my white cell count was 20,000 the night I was admitted to the hospital. Now it’s back to the normal range.
My blood work has always came back squeaky clean in the past, so I guess having the sugars, as my best friend likes to call it, is still kinda a shock to me. I had a bad feeling deep down, what with all of the garbage that I have been eating the last year or so. Adding another illness to my repertoire while hospitalized really sucker punched me.
My doc wants me to take the diabetes seriously, and I have already lost 10 pounds. (That hospital food tasted like shit on a cracker.)
I might actually be able to reverse it, who knows. Stranger things have happened, like that time I whipped out my boobs like water balloons at a Halloween party.
Tequila was involved. I can’t say anymore, you already know too much.
I’m still puffing away. Damn you nicotine and rage attacks!
My kid is having some issues at school, and I want to call her guidance counselor in the worst way. She told me to please don’t, but it’s hard not to want to step in. She’s a senior, so this might be her last chance to take advantage of my helpfulness. But I won’t. It’s against her wishes, so I will keep my nose out of it.
I did promise to pick her up everyday, though. She has early release this year, and now that I have my van, I will spoil her. I even promised to have an afternoon snack ready for her, to make up for all of those years of being the first kid at the daycare at 6:30 am. I can still picture her all blurry eyed, eating a bowl of Fruit Loops, staring sleepily at me as I kissed her goodbye.
She smiled when I told her and she said cool, which makes me happy.
I have been taking half hour power naps this summer, mostly because of the puppy. It hasn’t been so bad yet, but I might be mega screwed when I have my next flare. I am surprised that my recent illness hasn’t brought one upon me yet.
I can only hope that maybe my body is like, “Shit give the girl a break already!”
I have things that need to be done, like cleaning my house. God bless my husband and my offspring, but this place needs some bleach.
Have a great weekend, and help yourself to one of these burnt biscuits. If you slather a bunch of jam on them, they’re actually really shitty.