By the time I finish writing, the dishwasher will be quiet, lights will be turned off for the evening, leaving only night lights strategically placed throughout the house. In the back room, there's a sea anemone shell on a cork base made by my husband back when he went scuba diving. There's a pink plastic night light in the cats' hangout; a vanilla scented air freshener/night light combo in the mud room, ending downstairs in the kitchen with a very small orange plug protector that stays on all the time. Our current favorite is a white glowing plastic Jesus looking down lovingly over the old toaster and coffeemaker.

The week has been productive. Lots of prepping outdoor plants to come in from the cold, vacuuming and steam cleaning all of the Persian rugs, both large and small, and trying some new recipes for Fall.

On the health front, ARGGGGHHH. Even though Rheumatologist lowered Methotrexate and Prednisone, I developed mouth sores (which he warned me 1-3% of people report this side effect). The mouth sores got worse despite various home-brewed rinses until I was unable to eat anything with texture or crunch. My throat hurt like fuck, had red spots at the back similar to strep with white crud on tongue, accompanied by fever of 101F... on a Friday night.

Thankfully, my dentist is open alternate Saturdays, so I called and explained situation, got in on emergency basis. He took one look and said I needed oral antifungal medication, which I asked him to prescribe. He also prescribed Clotrimazole Troches 5X per day and said to avoid sugar, something he's never mentioned in 15 years. He said it might take 3-5 days to feel better but I don't. Of course, the new meds have side effects plus I feel slightly overwhelmed by the addition to my pill taking regime.

I suppose things could be worse so what's a gal to do? Fasting tonight and getting labs done tomorrow, then seeing Cardiologist and Rheumatologist next Friday. Before the outside temps go down to 18F at night, all of my plants should be repotted, pruned, and sitting pretty. The last and largest rug might be finished. Operative words being should and might. Mid-week, I chatted with my mother after she'd gone to a street fair, had an episode of shortness of breath, was "escorted" back to her Assisted Living.

As they say on NCIS: New Orleans, "Laissez les bons temps rouler!"


Greetings and welcome to another day in the life of yours truly. Yesterday I went to a new doctor to establish her as my primary care physician. I dislike going to the doctor and she could probably tell. She was young, relatively attractive, decisive, intelligent, brisk, and took some of my complaints fairly seriously. I was one of the people they flagged under the new terrorism screenings. I suspected it would end that way, but I felt obligated to answer the questions honestly and to the best of my ability. At one point I was asked if I was actively suicidal and said that I wasn't. Not being the empathetic sort in most cases, I tried to put myself into their positions. What would I do with me if I showed up as a patient at a clinic? I sat there worried and anxious, fearful of an announcement that I was going to be returning to the hospital or at the very least another out patient program. To my surprise I was sent on my way with some referral information. Please answer strange numbers they said, it's going to be us calling.

I left in such a state I wasn't sure what was going on around me. I needed groceries so I drove the short distance to work. Something happened a while ago that makes it very difficult for me to see certain employees. A friend of mine works at the front desk, but when I approached it I spotted one of the people I try to avoid. I drove my cart around the aisles in produce, picking up raspberries and adding oranges and onions to my cart. People saw me and waved or spoke to me. The experience was surreal, I was there, but not there. I hope they don't think I was under the influence of alcohol or other substances as I stumbled around the store trying to think; yes, I need chicken, better buy eggs, chocolate would be nice right about now. A man I work with came up to me and I wasn't really ready for the encounter, he had been in a mood the other day. He had sent me an apology via text, he gave me a hug, and we discussed some of the things we had spoken about the other day in front of the muffins and scones.

After I left work I went to the bank still in a very agitated state. I had to go back when I couldn't find my car keys, nobody had harmed me at the doctor's office. I had barely been touched other than to get a pulse, blood pressure, and weight measurements. I felt icy to the marrow of my bones, as if each red blood cell had crystalized and could no longer flow through my frozen veins. I could trust nobody, not even myself. It was perceived trauma rather than anything real. But the flashback was enough. Once again I had been reduced to a collection of body parts; eyes, ears, nose, throat, breasts, vagina, uterus, ankles, brain. There's a specialty for each of them. I was given a referral to go see a new rheumatologist as well as paperwork to go back to physical therapy. I was dealt with in an orderly and competent fashion that lacked any warmth. My insurance card had allowed me access, the bills for my visit would be paid, and I was let go with fuzzy copies of faces who I could spend more money to go and see.

Last night I took some of the medication I had been prescribed several years ago. It calms me down and I felt okay when I woke up this morning. When I ran the depression idea past a couple of friends I felt better. One of them said I was rudderless, I was doing adult things without any real direction. Another said that I needed to find out where I wanted to go in life which felt like a variation on the same theme. A third friend told me they screen everyone and not to worry too much about it. Have you ever had a friend that you can tell anything? I don't know why I meet these people, but I'm grateful for them. Sometimes I worry, sometimes there are no thoughts or feelings. I'm just cold and empty, going through the motions of my daily life with no plan for the future. It would scare me and sometimes does, but in a distant way, as if the soundtrack is playing, but it's for a movie and not my real life.

My youngest is staying at school this weekend and I want to break down and sob at the library. My oldest is at work. The other day I found a picture of them standing on a dock. I can see now things I couldn't then. How soft and comfortable my oldest is, how analytical and cautious her sister has become. I have a book about choosing your wardrobe according to what type of energy is most dominant in a person. It's taken my years, but now I can walk into a store with a goal and walk out with clothing that suits me and my style. I want to get my hair cut at a place that will give me what I want. I could get a massage, get my nails done, hire someone to clean my house, it sounds so easy, yet remains so daunting and that's why I continually struggle. Why is it so hard to do the few things that would really help?

Upon reflection I think a lack of planning, failure to define a clear, specific, measureable goal, and low self esteem stand in my way. I'm listening to a CD compilation of Advanced Selling Techniques by Brian Tracy. I've followed him on Twitter for some time and have a tremendous deal of admiration for his logical and straightforward material. If you want to be a top seller you need to find top sellers and emulate what they do until it becomes second nature. Getting my hair cut and my nails done and buying clothes that fit me well is not a vain and self indulgent act, it's a strategy and I would be foolish to avoid investing in myself. I also want some warmer clothes to wear when I go walking as the winter weather is rapidly approaching. My daughter wore the boots I had, but I can always buy another pair.

I'm actually okay, I just don't feel very good about myself and the future. But at least I'm doing some of the things that I know bring warmth and joy to my life. Last night I played cards with my neighbors, I'm going to take a day trip this weekend and I'll continue to check out local libraries since this is apparently my new thing. I'm getting really tired of the people who tell me I need more sex and alcohol in my life as if those are somehow difficult to come across. I want more out of life than booze and boyfriends. I had that life, I tried that, it dragged me down instead of building me up and perhaps in the future I will feel the need for one, the other, or both, but for now I'm working on culling mentors from the hundreds of people I know and I'm very okay with living my life the way that I choose. I've done a lot with very little and I'm proud of that. Facing the doctor fear was huge. I'm still reeling from it, but that's one less mountain I have to climb later, and that's a wonderful feeling today.

Until next time,


I REALLY want to node more write-ups under five hundred words but they always end up around at like six to eight hundred words long. I am not a fast writer so this is a bit of a problem. On that note, what is your typical writing speed? On average how long does it take for you to finish a write up?

If I finish this month I'll be over one hundred write ups. The world we live in is defined by information and despite prognostications of falling literacy the written word remains an incredibly powerful tool that makes or breaks people and movements. I spend enough time online that I see people who can churn out huge amounts of good, insightful text and I wonder why I can't do the same most days. I know I'm capable of putting out things that people want to read but most times I sit down to type I find myself staring blankly at the screen or frustrated at getting the tenses to agree at the beginning and end of a sentence. Other days it just flows. I've noticed some patterns, I'm better in the evenings, better when I have a specific goal like an argument to make or particular feeling I want to get across, not so good when I'm just trying to describe something, any given subject is wide enough that you'll run out of characters. When I try and describe things generally I'm tempted to put more and more in. My recent Rick and Morty episode nodes are particularly bad about this. I'm pretty sure I could run into two or three thousand words if I had unlimited time and could make them exactly how I want.

So this daylog isn't just noding about noding, I'm hyped because the sequel to my favorite work of fiction is starting tomorrow. Worm ended in 2013 and it's only gotten more popular with time as more and more people find out about it. I noded the next work by Wildbow, Pact, and with any luck I'll node his third work, Twig, before the end of November. I love all three but Worm is my favorite by far and with the way the original story ended it's really hard to say how the sequel will look. A new protagonist and a setting that is dramatically changed are both givens but the author has shown himself more than capable of switching genres. Fingers crossed.


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