[Journal] All flare and no play make Abi something something…

I’ve had an interesting month. Filled with both ups and downs, some more workable than others. Most notably, the reason I’ve been fairly absent is that I’m now on week 3 of the flare from hell. You know how every now and again you get a flare that blows all the others out of the water and leaves you standing there naked, wondering how you ended up in the middle of an arms testing facility? Yeah, one of those.

Moving in with my mother has come with it’s own stresses – we’re now living in a confined space, an entirely new set of boundaries needs to be established (or, more importantly, adhered to) with my mother and my privacy, I have very little space for work – especially important given that it’s not only how I earn money, but also how I destress! – and a whole kettle of conflict issues when the aforementioned points are brought to a head. What this means for  me is that, given how my body reacts to stress, I’ve been a hot mess for the last few months of living here.

It all started with my body going “you know what we haven’t done in a while? Bled like we’re dying out your reproductive organs”, and so it did. Despite all chemical reasoning not to (contraception for period control is THE best invention of the modern world, hands down, when it works), my uterus went flying full-speed into the glass door, and then spewed a torrent of filthy language that would make German grandmother blush when it realised that I was trying to ignore it.

I thought “fair enough, we can deal with this” and despite me being roughly as amicable as a herniated mako shark’s asshole, we got through it. But the problem was, my fatigue didn’t go away. It just got worse and worse and worse.

Queue now where I’m sleeping for roughly 14 hours a day just to avoid heart palpitations from exhaustion, I’m in constant above-average pain and my mental health is beginning to suffer from it all and you can kind of understand why my blogging has been non-existent despite intentions to keep this updated more regularly. I’m in the process of damage control and I’m hoping that every day that passes is one day closer to when this god-forsaken flare decides to give up and go home, but until then, I’m almost entirely bedridden aside from one low-impact activity a day – today’s was going to my GP.

In regards to that side of things, I’m doing well. I finally have a GP who has taken my issues seriously, isn’t treating me like a drug seeker (a moment’s pause in thanks for whatever god helped with this one) and is actually proactive in the management of my condition. To make things a little more rough, my specialist recommended that we wean me off my anti-anxiety in favour of another antidepressant I’m on for the Fibro and CFS, so that certainly hasn’t been helping my moods at all, but the plus side is that the meds they’ve put me on – Pristiq – have helped my moods like nobody’s business when I first went on them. Today we’ve brought me up from the trial dose to the full standard dose, which should do me absolute wonders and stop me being such a heinous cunt. The only thing I need to keep an eye on is that magical surprise lactation issue one boob seems to favour for this particular class of meds, but if my choice is offering people one squirt or two with their coffee and having amazing moods, or hating everything and everyone and having normal chesticles, I know what I’m going to pick. Besides, there’s probably good money in those sorts of pictures 😉

The downside of the doctor’s visit is that it’s confirmed I need to get my weight under control. At the beginning of this year, I was 110kgs. It’s not amazing. I’ve gotten it down to 105 with roughly two months serious work, but I was told that, while I’m not pre-diabetic, if I don’t shed the weight and get down to a manageable size, I’m going to be looking at diabetes in the future. It’s entirely understandable, but it honestly hit me like a bit of a brick to the back of the head, and I couldn’t understand why it was so upsetting beyond the fact that this should be a concern of mine, and then it dawned on me – when you’re chronically sick, you eventually get used to a certain run of fuckery with your body. Things are wrong, but you know what those things are, and they kind of become the neighbours you love to hate. You deal with them every day, but at least you know where you stand with them. When you add something new like this to the mix, it opens the entire cycle of grief all over again because it simply feels nothing short of betrayal from your body.

All of a sudden, your patched together little world is showing signs of the threads breaking, and you’re not certain how you’re going to sew it together again. It’s one of those things where, at least in my case, I had accepted that I had my conditions and there was a certain security in knowing that my conditions were more or less the way they were going to be, with some minor deviations on a broad scale. But this is another issue left of wing. I suppose it’s a bit of a fire under my arse if nothing else. I was already working towards weight loss and finding the old ‘me’, but this has gone to show that in order to keep my body functioning at what MY level of health  is, I need to actually work for it. It also really makes me question the whole ‘fat acceptance movement’ thing. I’m a big girl. I’m not going to deny that, but I’m not morbidly obese. Even when I was 65kgs, I still had broader shoulders and larger biceps than my boyfriend. I don’t fit standard women’s size shirts in the shoulder, and when it came to corset fitting, my ribcage was larger than average. But what this doesn’t change is that I am fat for my body type and that’s where my issues are rising. My body is not happy being this big, and so I’m working on fixing this. However, when I see girls almost twice my size promoting their size as being ‘healthy’, I do wonder how that works for them. Is their body simply coping better with their size? Are they simply in denial about the risks to their liver and pancreas with carrying that much weight? Body positivity is a wonderful thing, and I’m slowly learning how to love my broken, bunky little body, but I don’t think I could ever love the idea of putting myself at risk of disease. I don’t know. I feel like this is a kettle of fish probably best brought up in another blog post.

There have been plus sides to all the shenanigans, though. I’ve got the business back up and running. I made two sales in the last fortnight that has given the the “you can do the thing!” feeling again, and I’ve signed up for what I hope is the first of many courses ranging from silversmithing through to enameling, engraving, stone setting and all sorts that should add to my skills nicely. I am a little stressed about the fact that I have to take ‘stationary hobby business’ through to ‘making $180 a week’ in a matter of 3 months, especially when I don’t have a dedicated work space and, for a good portion of it, my desk has been a sheet of MDF across the bed. I’m presently in talks with the mother about getting a caravan or a demountable for the backyard that I can effectively make my office, but it feels a little like pulling teeth right now.

I also do have some kind of secret good news to share, and I figure this is the best note to end my blog on 🙂 Long story short, once this flare is over, I’ll be taking part in a weekly video presentation for spoonies, by spoonies. Covering everything from hobbies and relationships through to dealing with hospitals, mental health and more. I’m a little limited right now given my health and how long it’s taken me to write this blog post (brain-hands relationship has gone on holiday!), but it will be exciting to be involved in a project like this.

I’m going to leave this here and go and get some sleep.

❤ Abi

 

 

 

 

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[Journal] Chronic Illness and the feeling of being left behind

So often we’re forced to use words like “I can’t” or “not today” when talking to people about social invitations or events outside our own house. Tonight is one such time for me, as manthing and I had planned to go into the city together to meet up with some friends. I was trying to be cautiously optimistic about it all, but as the day progressed, I realised that going out tonight wasn’t an option. Rather than keep him home through no fault of his own, Manthing decided to go without me.

I feel pretty awful – not just physically, but emotionally. I feel like I’ve been left behind and let down and forgotten about. Not by him, though. I feel like my own body has decided that I’m not allowed to go out, have fun and have a normal social life, and there are very few things harder than trying to battle against yourself. You can’t just hop up and jump into a new body when this one isn’t working properly, and it’s incredibly easy to take that feeling of being abandoned and turn that into self-pity, and eventually into depression.

So what do you do? You’re stuck at home, everyone else is out having a fantastic time, and all you have is pain and Netflix to keep you company. I’m struggling tonight to not fall into the pity party pit- and it can be bloody hard – but here’s some thing that might make it a little easier:

  1. Look after yourself.
    In the immortal words of Donna from Parks and Rec, “Treat ‘yo self” . Do something good for you. If that means eating a block of chocolate while in your pajamas, watching reruns of your favourite show, do it. This is about you making you feel good.

    But you know what? Sometimes you just can’t get past feeling shitty and miserable, and that’s okay. You do NOT have to be Superman or Wonderwoman. I give you complete and total permission to cry about how unfair it is, how much it all fucking sucks and how much you hate your body. Because we all have those moments, and sometimes we need an emotional release from feeling cooped up as much as we do a physical one. Hug that pillow, scream into that blanket or (snerk!) write that blog post! Let the world know you’re unhappy and that you’re over it, and make sure you give yourself a hug afterwards. You are loved.

  1. Talk to someone.
    If you’re stuck at home, there’s nothing more alienating than sitting in a quiet room by yourself. The next best thing thanks to the internet is to talk to people online. Go bug someone on Skype, prod a friend on Facebook or talk to a mate on KIK. If you’re after new friends, go and find a chat room that matches your interest, hit up the roleplaying boards on Gaia Online, or hell, go and check out some of the topics at r/CasualConversation .

    The worst thing you can do is to isolate yourself. At the very least, you’ll be catching up with someone you know. At best, you make a new friend.Sometimes it can be a little hard to talk to people when you’re in a crappy mood, but try and persevere. The best part of being online is that you can be entirely anonymous – if you don’t feel like sharing your present situation, you don’t have to. This may not be helpful for everyone, but I know it’s helped me on a few nights where I’d much rather just say I’m fine, than explaining how crap I feel.

  2. Plan for the future.
    This one is hard, even for me. You have to remember that, just because you can’t go out this time, it doesn’t mean “never”. Even though it feels pretty damn close, you’re disheartened and miserable, there’s always tomorrow. And if tomorrow is still shit, there’s next week. If next week is crap, the week after. Rinse repeat. It’s so very easy to go “I give up”, throw your hands up and become an angry pain sausage and sit in the corner, but that won’t fix the situation. What you’ll eventually find is that your mood right now is shit, and rightly so, but it will pass. You may wake up tomorrow feeling a little better for a sleep, and want to try and catch up with that friend or see that movie. You also may not, but that’s where we try again on the next tomorrow.

    Being a chronic kitty often means we feel left out and DO get left out of social events because we simply can’t keep up with others, or because it’s not an accessible thing, or because we simply fall out of social groups because we don’t have the energy for gossip. It can hurt, but it’s important that we do things within our means, too, and this means planning that lunch date, or going to see that movie or going over a friends, but do it within your capacity. Only you know what you are capable of, and you are awesome.

I don’t know if I feel better by writing this right now, but I know I’ll feel better tomorrow. I’m going to spend tonight playing some video games and watching a series and, if I feel particularly sassy, I’m going to get some ice cream. But most importantly, I’m going to give myself the time I need to feel better and I’m going to look after my body while doing it. As crap as I feel now, I know tomorrow would have been ten times worse than today if I had pushed myself to go out tonight. At least this way I know I’m taking the time to treat my body right, and when Manthing gets home, he’ll have lots of new stories to tell me about 🙂

I would love to know what other people do for ‘self care’ on nights like this. What’s your “go to” pick-me-up? Either leave a comment below or use the new “got a question?” page to leave me an anonymous answer!

❤ Abigail

 

[Comic] A visual depiction of Brain Fog

So after all the work to pack and move today, and the blogging earlier, an idea came to me while cooking dinner. I finally figured out the best way for me to explain brain fog to someone who has never experienced it before. Obviously it’s different for everyone, but I hope this goes a little way towards helping non-Fibro sufferers understand the daily derp we kitties face and that sometimes (Just sometimes!) we’re not actually ignoring you 🙂

 

38 - Brain fog

[comic] Fighting off the blues with cats

So, I won’t lie. Due to events that have transpired (look at me being all fancy) that I’m not quite ready to talk about yet, my depression has come back with a horrid vengeance and great almighty teeth. I’ve been doing my best to counter the physical fallout – increased pain, lethargy, flu-like symptoms – by keeping myself busy and doing requests on one of the sites I frequent. And since I have nothing more productive I can do with my time right now, due to my body being a fetid arsemonger, I might as well post them here.

This is a very displeased cat – a portrait of someone’s moggy in the style of the Adventure Time cartoons.

Kitty.jpg

[Journal] So I ended up in hospital yesterday.

So, last night, at about 1:30am, I ended up in hospital. Easter Sunday, Manthing and I decided we weren’t going to cook. We ordered takeout from our local fast-food place (they deliver, which is awesome). For those of you in Aus, you should be familiar with Red Rooster. For those not, it’s basically a place that deals exclusively in chicken. Sometimes bacon. So, I ordered my usual from there.

About two hours after I had eaten, I started to feel unwell. Very unwell. My stomach was churning, I was shaking, I had a fever sweat and then chills and then a fever sweat, etc. It felt like someone had punched me in the guts. Hung over the toilet for a while, nothing. Went to sit back down? Ohshit. We’re going to throw up. Nothing. I proceeded to have a shower to try and ease the accompanying muscle aches – when I get sick, my fibro chimes in with “I wanna play, too!” and causes hell in a hand basket pain-wise – and I threw up all over the shower floor. I can honestly tell you it was one of the most hilariously disgusting things I’ve witnessed. I was sitting down on the shower floor, threw up suddenly all over myself, the walls and the floor. Interestingly enough, dinner smelled the same coming out as it did going in earlier.

By this point, I had taken anti-nausea medication on two different occasions. 15 minutes after I took them, I threw them both back up. Crawl into bed after washing myself off, feel worse than I have in a long while. Suspect food poisoning. I call the nurse advice line we have here and she runs through the symptoms with me and suggests I head off to hospital to be monitored.

Massively sick, fever, chills, unable to hold anything at all down since 10pm. By this time it was bout 1am. On my way to the car, I threw up in the garden, over the railing and then in the laundry sink. I should have marked them off on a bingo card or something. Rather than going to the usual hospital of mine, we went to the closer one. Biggest mistake ever. Last night, it took 5 hours of me throwing up in the main ER room and being violently sick and very dehydrated before I was seen, I was left in a bed for well over an hour when I got transferred to the Short Stay ward and it took them another hour from when I was seen in the ward to do what I had been asking the entire time – give me an anti-nausea shot and let me go home.

I had politely asked a few times when I was going to be seen and they kept saying I was next in line and that it wasn’t a very busy night at all. While in short stay, I tried to explain to the nurse that, with me being sick, I need to take my painkillers to make this ordeal bearable. My pain was slowly climbing it’s way up to a 9 (I don’t tempt fate by using 10, or I know my body will one-up it) and because I couldn’t hold down fluids, I couldn’t take anything and I was very quickly heading towards utter agony. At this point, I was curled up in the fetal position, clutching my stomach and whimpering. I got the filthy “Oh, so you’re a druggie” looks from the young nurse, while the older ones actually seemed to understand and tried to hurry the process along. There were no blood tests or investigation into whether it was something more serious like salmonella from the chicken.

I’d also like to note that there were still pieces of bloody gauze on the floor beneath my bed, and the remnants of blood ON the bed itself. I’m very much aware that my case was far from urgent to start, and was totally happy to wait a little while the more urgent patients got seen before me. Long story short though, I was very unimpressed with the whole ordeal. We didn’t get to leave until something like 7am. We drove home through some very beautiful fog and I had a hot shower and climbed straight into bed.

I’ve only just woken up and I still feel like shit. I have MASSIVE body pains. I literally feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m more or less taking the next few days to myself to recover and feel less like patient zero before the zombie apocalypse. Manthing has to help me to and from the toilet because I’m so unsteady on my feet. My skin hurts to touch, the feeling of clothing is causing me a great deal of pain, but the cold would cause me more. Suffice to say that I am a little ball of pain and hate right now and it’s taken considerable effort to write this blog post. Since it’s about me and my whacky adventures in being a sick little munchkin, I figure it warranted a post here.

I’m going to sign off here because I have no sodding idea what else to write. Be good ❤

[Journal] Sodding dicknipples

image

Well, I’m going to be off my feet for a few days. An ongoing ingrown toenail issue came to a head today where, after five separate procedures to only remove part of the nail, we finally removed the whole sodding thing today.

I’m not in a very good way, so I’ll keep it short. Pain. So much fucking pain. Two full needles of anesthetic, a tourniquet and some kind of black magic fuckery later and I couldn’t feel a thing. We got the nail out relatively fuss free and I got bandaged and sent home with some antibiotics.

Halfway home (a 15 minute trip) I started getting throbs. By the time we had gotten home, half the anesthetic had worn off. Elevated that bitch, iced it, took painkillers. Played a game as a distraction, did the breathing exercises and the whole shebang. Nope. Body pulled a massive “FUCK YOU!” and I ended back in the surgery in screaming pain. Literally the worst pain I’ve ever been in. I’m normally pretty tanky. I don’t cry with fibro pain. I didn’t even flinch with the injections. But this was an entirely new level of ow. It was like Satan himself had inserted my toe into his firey asshole after a curry dinner.

They unwillingly gave me more injections, sent me home with some Tramadol and an anti inflammatory. Made it halfway home again before the pain set in. Went to bed. Got up an hour later. Now sitting in front of the xbox playing Halo with Manthing and a friend as a distraction with a throbbing toe. Oddly enough, the neighboring toe and injection sites hurt more right now than the nail bed. Anyway. Back to halo.

[Journal] Friends and chronic illness

To start, I’d like to clarify that this isn’t me seeking attention or looking for sympathy. This is me trying to make sense out of a series of situations I’ve been in recently and to work out where I stand in it all. This also isn’t directed at any one specific person, but is a collection of memories from past and present friendships, written at a very emotional point tonight.

I’ve written in the past about how maintaining friendships is a challenge when one is chronically ill. Regardless of what you’ve been afflicted with, it makes an impact on your life that few people can understand. I’ve written about how a careless word here or there can really bring someone’s world down around them. I’ve also written about how lonely it can get when one is cooped up at home all day, every day.

This post is more than that. To me, this is an attempt to make sense of everything I’ve been through with past and present friends to date.

Right now it’s almost 11pm. I’m sitting in bed with my laptop and I’ve just had a good 20 minute sob to Manthing about how unfair it is that people just don’t ‘get it’. I’ve had 7 days of above-average pain. It’s worn me down in places I’m not usually aware of. I’m beyond exhausted. Because of how run down I am, I’m in more pain than the last few days, anyway. I won’t lie. This is hard. This is really, really hard.

I used to tell people that I was very lucky because my support network for hard times like these were a select few friends I could call upon, whenever. Some online, some a few suburbs away. In fact, before myself and Manthing were a ‘thing’, there was one night when I had hit my first 9 on the pain scale. It was 3am and he had work the next day, but I could still ring him up and he talked to me on the phone for about an hour until my painkillers had kicked in and I could sleep.

In the last few years, this has changed. I find myself here on a night like tonight with almost no support network whatsoever. People have gone their own ways, life has changed, things have come up. One friend decided it was okay to treat his friends like shit. Another got a girlfriend and suddenly didn’t have time anymore. Another couldn’t understand that being sick wasn’t like being in bed with the flu. Another still decided to tell me that my illness was THEIR problem. One by one, all the people I felt I could approach at that 3am mark drifted away and left me here on my own little island of Fuck, where I find myself tonight.

I guess this entry is a bit of lamenting the fact that I feel so alone right now. Once upon a time, if a friend caught wind that I wasn’t doing so well, I’d have an SMS within minutes. I’d get a check-in every now and then. “Just thinking of you. Hope you’re okay.” I’d get a message online or they’d even just show up out of the blue. Once, I had someone even deliver a care package because I had spent the week in bed. You know who you are, and you should know I genuinely cried, even through I didn’t say anything out of pride when it happened. It’s the little things that turn a fucking awful situation into a not so bad one. It’s knowing that someone has your back that can sometimes give you the strength to get through the day. Right now, thanks to the pain and the depression, I feel like I could vanish for a month at a time and nobody would even know I was gone.

For what it’s worth, I always did what I could. I like to see myself as ‘that friend’. The one that would always check in. If you were having a shitty day, I’d send you an awful joke or a picture. If you were stuck in bed, I made digital get well cards. Driving an hour out of my way to help a friend out even though I wasn’t in the best state wasn’t something I thought twice about. I just did it because they needed me there. I’m the one that left the messages. “If you ever need an ear or someone to talk to, I’m here.” Maybe I wasn’t that person to everyone. Maybe I wasn’t that person to anyone. But god help me, I tried. I genuinely tried to be the best friend I could be.

As I got more and more sick, sometimes I’d miss a beat. Sometimes there’d be a week where I was stuck in bed and didn’t know you were upset. I tried to catch up and still check in. I really did. With more than a few people, I tried to organise times when I was well enough to meet up, but they were always busy. Things don’t often work the way we plan, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t genuinely put an effort in.

Right now, I feel empty. I feel like, for everything that I’ve been through, I only have Manthing with me. I feel so alienated from other people that it physically aches in my chest. People I used to be really close to. I think at one point I had half a dozen people and I felt so very special because of it. I think about all the 3am nights we used to spend out getting slushies and I cry. Things aren’t that way anymore. I think about the skype calls we had where we’d see who could burp the loudest and it hurts.  You got a girlfriend and I vanished off the face of the earth to you.  I remember the times we used to make running jokes and confuse everyone else in the room. You don’t even answer my messages now.

I think about how, once, I felt like I had people who were involved in my life enough that, when I needed someone to vent to, they understood I wasn’t looking for attention. I just needed someone that understood what I was going through. I know I’m not the easiest person to be friends with. I really do understand that. I’m a lot of work. I ask things of people, I can’t always go out or catch up and sometimes I hurt people because of it. But seriously, do you think that it hurts any less for me? I’m the token cripple friends. I’m the one people make allowances for. I’m the one that forgets and needs assistance during games. I’m the one that makes the group walk slower. But I’m still human.

Yes, I do still have friends, and people I talk to occasionally, but it’s not easy. Imagine how it feels to not be able to talk about some things because they just don’t understand – or, in same cases, just don’t give a shit. Imagine someone walking away mid-conversation when you’re trying to explain why you were so sick yesterday. I’m the one that has to make the allowances for other people. I have to watch my words so other people aren’t accidentally offended because they can’t deal with their own stresses. I have to curb my own humour because, god forbid, someone might be offended by a joke I make about myself. I have to constantly remind people that, for me to go out somewhere requires some planning. I can’t just get an invite half an hour before X starts. I often don’t have money with over $200 of medication per month. I am a difficult person to be friends with, but I’d like to think that I’m no less worthy of friendship for it.

I’m genuinely afraid of making new friends, even thought I’ve tried. Try to imagine what it feels like to be immediately judged as being ‘too hard’ or ‘too much work’ the moment you mention chronic illness. On top of dealing with all my other physical issues, I then have this exhausting charade of social interaction, and it wears me out.

I won’t lie. I have very little patience for those that can’t accept me as I am, but I’m desperate. I want friends and I’ll take what I can get.

I do still have people that genuinely give a shit about me, and I them. People that don’t care if I’m in my pijamas when they show up. People that are happy to change plans to a night in when I can’t move. People that don’t hate me for something I have no control over. I hope that, one day, they read this part and understand. But those are far and few between, and with some, we barely even talk anymore.

I don’t even know if I’ve made much sense with this post. Manthing actually pushed me to blog about it and, in it’s own way, it’s been a bit cathartic. That little voice of anxiety in my head warns me that I might offend or upset a past or present friend reading this, but then the little logical Abi in the front of my head says “Let them be.” I guess if someone’s offended by this, it’s because they feel that there’s an ounce of truth in my writing. Let them fix it. If someone feels a prickle with one of the things I wrote, it’ll be because they relate to something in there. It’s never my intention to offend with these things, but people are stupid. If there’s an issue, do something about it.

After a solid half hour of writing, I’m thoroughly exhausted and no less miserable, but I’ll leave it here for tonight.

[Journal] A catch up (and other things)

As I’m starting this post, it’s 2:11am and I’m lying in bed, typing this on my phone with manthing halfway draped across my back. Have you ever been so tired you couldn’t sleep? I honestly have no idea what my body is doing. I apologise for any incoherence in the following post. I seem to have spent most of today running on two and a half brain cells and I’m struggling to make sense of autocorrect on my phone.

Thank god Christmas and New Year is gone for another few hundred days. I managed to survive it all by the seat of my pants and a lot of coffee. Christmas day was spent visiting family (manthing’s and then mine) though we still need to see my family up north. Time seems to work strangely around celebrations. Boxing day was spent hiding at home. NYE was at my adoptive dad’s place and was very interesting. I don’t have the brain to elaborate right now, but suffice to say it was food for a lot of thought.

The last few weeks have been a bit of a blur between thr seasonal madness and my bi – weekly Chiro appointments. This means that I’ve been in a fair bit of pain and spent the last few days in a nasty pain flare. I’ve tried to do my usual socialising,  but I won’t lie – it’s left me terribly worn out. I’m back to feeling like that blanket that’s been worn so much it’s fraying at the edges.

Right now I’m having trouble focusing on my writing thanks to stabbing back pain. I’m going to take a wild guess and assume I’ve managed to aggravate it today. Today was helping with fixing a shed, by the way. The problem is that all my pain seems to be linked. I’m getting the headaches and pelvic pain and then costo pain in the chest and aches in my legs. All because my back is being a twat.

I feel a little like a tangled puppet. With all of this going on, I’ve also found it hard to be motivated. I really do want to try a 365 drawing challenge. Or at least a creative challenge where I make something each day. Yesterday I helped make a shed a little tidier. Today (technically) I wrote this blog and will be helping with a Pathfinder game later in the day. The day before I made a squid beanie. The day before that… does making carbon dioxide count? If not, I made the house a little messier. In all seriousness,  I really do want to do this. If you have a suggestion for a drawing, or another creative challenge leave it in the comments. I think it would be awesome to document the process so, at the end of a long week, I can look back and say “I’m not quite so useless after all”. Without the implied self – depreciation,  of course. It’s just a little sense of achievement I can look forward to.

My problem tonight is that I’m exhausted but my body won’t stop and my anxiety is playing up because of the physical stress. I guess this journal had really been more of a journal than a lot of my other entries in that it’s a genuine stream of thought. On that note, I have a few articles I’d like to write up and share.

For now, I really need to pee so I’m going to wrap this blog entry up (first one for the year. How about that?), do my thing and then maybe play some Pokemon until I get comfy.

Be good ❤