Reason to smile: Every seven minutes of every day someone in an aerobics class pulls a hamstring. -- Author Unknown

I am one weak-ass bitch.

I'm going to have to turn that around into a positive by the end of this post, but for now, let me whine.

I woke up with my right calf hurting. I must have gotten a cramp in the middle of the night that I don't remember.

My left arm/shoulder is still killing me. It hurts to shampoo my hair. It hurts to towel dry. It hurts when I'm just sitting. Nothing works. Not ice. Not heat. Not Icy Hot. Not Advil. Nothing.

I have a headache. I just took 3 Advil.

So this morning, my goal was to scrub the larger of the two porches - the front porch.  I needed to scrub the red chalk line left over from the contractor. He used red chalk so he'd know where to put the screws. It's chalk for pity's sake. It should just rub off. No, No it does not. I had my hot soapy water and scrub brush in hand and started on the front line (there are 3 lines across the whole porch). It took me an hour and a helluva lot of scrubbing to get that damn chalk line off.  My left arm is already gimpy. Now I'm making my right one gimpy too. I'm never going to be able to sleep on either side again which means I'm never going to be able to sleep again.

I figured there had to be an easier way to get this chalk line off - such as a power washer. And who has a power washer? Why, Dad, of course!  So he came right over, even though today is a work day for him, and he scrubbed with the soapy water while I went back over it with the power washer.  That was an hour and a half ago. I still see red lines.

What is this chalk made of? Concrete?

OK, so on a positive note, I did spend one hour outside scrubbing the first chalk line off. And I did a damn good job, even if I have to say so myself. I don't see red there. I do see a few faint red lines elsewhere, though and I just flat out refuse to go out there and scrub them anymore. Fuck you chalk line. Fuck you.

Elvis ventured outside this morning. He behaved very well. He did not try to escape. He did not run away screaming. He knows who feeds him.

So far, I do not have a therapy appointment this week. She was booked up.  I'll get a call only if she has a cancellation.  No therapy for a week does not bode well, in my humble opinion, so I'm hoping some jackass cancels. Except if it's Thursday because that's garage-sale-day and it would mean I'd have to drive myself. Drive myself 15 highway miles. Alone. In my car. With other cars coming towards me. With the potential of bicyclists sharing the road and tractors pulling out in front of me. It makes my head hurt to think about it.

I'm going to go lay down.

“I believe in God... just in case. It's like there's some list somewhere and you don't want to be on it. I don't want to say THERE'S NO GOD! and then die and say, Oh, Hi... Is there some kind of community service I can do?”- Mark Moran

When I was at the therapists office this past week, the nurse there was able to give me 45 days worth of Wellbutrin XL (extended release). I'd been taking 3 pills a day of the immediate release. I was thrilled to be able to just take one. But she said something curious to me when she gave me the pills. She asked when I'd been taking the three: 8, 12 & 4. She asked me if they made me....hyper. Or jittery. Or anything resembling energetic. I said No, I feel no different after I take them.

I feel no different.

And "they" obviously expect some sort of energized reaction.

I've got nothing.

I still nap just about every day. Even immediately after taking the Wellbutrin.  And I could sleep the morning away if it weren't for Mom and the dog-walking. In fact, Thursday, while they were away at garage sales, I slept in until 8.  That's unheard of. I'm a morning person, right? If I'm not a morning person, and I'm not a night owl (I go to bed at 8 if not earlier) then what the hell am I?

So, I'm thinking either the Wellbutrin isn't working as well as initially thought or maybe I need a higher dosage. Granted, I'm no longer crying uncontrollably for no reason. I still cry. It's just that now I have a reason. I still sit & stare. I still practically do nothing. I still get incredibly anxious thinking about certain things, like life in general. And I'm still depressed. I'd like to not be depressed anymore.

Yesterday I ventured out in my car to get my mail and cigarettes from the local Kum & Go. That's as far as I've gone in quite awhile all by myself. I had the thought as I was hurrying in & out of the post office so I could avoid any personal interaction, "I'm furtive".  It's as if I don't want anybody to see me. At all.

I scurry furtively.

This has got to stop.

On a good note more painting was semi-completed yesterday. Here's where we're at so far:

It makes me smile.

Dad's also completed some on-going projects. I now have a door, hung and with a doorknob, to my upstairs. Will help tremendously this winter so I'm not heating the upstairs.  AND he installed a new shower in my main floor clawfoot tub.  The old faucet wasn't working correctly for the shower, so he had to purchase & install a new one. He had to do a lot of work to get the project done, but I can now shower downstairs. Will be so happy this winter.

The house is really coming along!

Mom just called. I'm on my way over to their house, scurrying furtively, to peel apples. I hope that means an apple pie is in my future. Pie also makes me smile.

New paint job!

First step in the long, long process!

Lighthouses are more helpful then churches. — Benjamin Franklin

Have you heard the one about a 38 year old woman losing her mother in a Walmart parking lot? No? Well, let me tell ya!

Yesterday Mom drove me to therapy and afterward we had to go to Walmart to pick up a prescription and my groceries. Mom only needed to get a couple of things so she told me she'd just wait for me in the car. I hurried through the store, picking up what I needed (which included a giant tub of peanut butter and two containers of ice cream, even though I told myself I wouldn't - it's my next addiction which is making me entirely too fat).  Then I walked out the doors to the spot where Mom had parked. Only another vehicle was sitting in her space. A silver SUV. Either Mom is magical and she can change her car to whatever she likes or she left me. I stood there, dumbfounded. I called her cell phone thinking she got bored just sitting and decided to cruise the lot, watching the exit and would pick me up at the front. It went straight to voicemail. She "forgot" to turn her cell phone on.  I called it twice, standing in the middle of the parking lot (by this time the Silver SUV wanted to leave but I was in its way) just hoping beyond hope I was wrong and her cell phone was actually on and she'd pick it up and tell me where the hell she went off to.  Nope. Went to voicemail again.  As I was walking back to the front of the store, I met a couple of little old ladies. Well into their 80's. I almost cried out, "Will you help me find my mommy?!?"  Don't worry. I didn't. They could barely make it to their own car; how were they supposed to help me find my mom? Standing at the front of the store, I called Dad. I don't know what I thought he could do, sitting at home, but I had hoped he'd heard from her. He answered and I blurted out, "I think Mom left me at Walmart."  He laughed and checked his own garage. She wasn't there so she didn't come home without me. He said she must be there and I was just looking in the wrong place. I told him I was 99% sure I went to the right parking spot. He said, "You're just like me...so sure we're right".  I was almost in tears. I almost went back into Walmart to have them page her. Page the damn parking lot. Where could this woman be? I decided I'd have to walk up & down every aisle to find her, all the while thinking, "If I could drive myself, this shit wouldn't happen. I'd have my key fob and I'd set off the alarm and I'd know exactly where the car was."  Beggars can't be choosers, so I walked.

I found her one aisle over. I swear she moved. In fact that's the first thing I asked her, "Did you move????"  She laughed and said No. I berated her for not turning on her cell phone. Dad told me to give her heck. I felt like an idiot and in fact said, "I'm such a retard". Mom simply said, "I'm glad you said that..."

So now you've heard the story of the 38 year old woman losing her mother in a Walmart parking lot. Pretty hilarious, right? Right. *eye roll*. I'm never letting the woman out of my sight again.

I needed a "funny" after the therapy session I had. Boy I cry a lot. As my last post points out, I'm feeling a lot of guilt which stems from the "should's".  I should be doing this. I should be doing that. My therapist pointed out those don't help me. Should's are bad. Guilt is bad. So I asked her what the hell to do about it. She said to distract myself when those thoughts enter. Go to a happy place. (I do not have a happy place).  She said "I don't care if you sort your tupperware cupboard 10 times a day. Do something that will alter your thinking!"

It's so damn hard. I make everything negative. When I first thought of a happy place or time while sitting in her office, I thought about the true joy I felt when I passed the Pott. Cnty sheriff's department exam. I discarded that thought within about 5 seconds because it just leads to other thoughts of: I wasn't good enough to be hired. I was too psychologically impaired. Nobody would give me a gun. I'm unhireable. I'll never get hired anywhere.  Or what about the other time I felt true joy? When UNO gave me a graduate assistantship and nobody would have to pay for my Master's degree. That was a happy experience, except that it happened 14 years ago. I really couldn't think of a happy place that didn't lead to negative thoughts. That's not the point of a happy place. It should make you happy - not depressed.

I also make a lot of assumptions about what other people are thinking. Such as my parents. I think they should be sick of this by now. I think Mom probably hates all the driving she's doing. I think they're probably tired of paying all my bills. I think I'm just a burden to them and they probably wish I'd just go away. I'd like nothing more than to do so.  I told my therapist, I dream of the day when the doctor tells me I'm riddled with cancer and only have weeks to live. Finally. A light at the end of my dark tunnel.  A light that will end all this misery.

She asked me if I was suicidal.  I told her no. I just have a death wish. I don't think that will get me committed. I told her my philosophy on suicidal people. Once an attempt has been made or even the thought has occurred to the person, it's always there. It never goes away. Suicide, if thought once, will be thought again. She told me I'd just confirmed what she'd heard at a conference awhile ago. Yep, I'm a genius.

I asked her about the medications. It only makes sense to me, if I'm taking an anti-anxiety drug, I shouldn't have anxiety. That's not the case. She thinks that anxious and depressed people who have been anxious and depressed for most of their lives stay that way. The medication just makes things manageable. That does not sit well with me. Remember? I thought the medications would take care of everything. I'm learning they don't. And so I feel as if I'll forever be "coping, not controlling" these two demons of mine.

It wasn't a happy therapy appointment, though I did get her to laugh a couple of times. I still got it....

We chase this idea of "I will be happy when... " --Kate Bartolotta

First & foremost - Good News!  The painter has arrived and the scraping has begun!  My house should be a fresh new color within a month. Yeah!

Secondly, I'm finally able to read my list, generated by you, of positive things about me without breaking down into tears and crawling back into bed. And I even thought of one myself. I'm brave & courageous. Of course, I have to downplay that a bit because of my anxiety - is it brave & courageous to be afraid to drive? afraid to work? afraid to leave the house? Those are simply symptoms of my anxiety, though. They're not really who I am. I'm brave & courageous because I asked for help when I desperately needed it. I've asked for a lot of help when I've desperately needed it. In fact, I always feel like I'm asking for help. See? I just can't allow a positive thing to just be a positive thing. I have to put parameters to it. Ah well, I'm working on that at least.

If Oprah can have a nervous breakdown, then surely it's ok for the rest of us to do so, don't you think?

I received notice the other day that Social Security needs me to take a psychological examination. I wonder what that entails? Will I have to look at ink blots and tell him what I see? Will there be a multiple choice test or am I going to have to write an essay? *eye roll* An examination is simply a therapy session where the doctor just asks me a bunch of questions.  Are you suicidal? On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst, how anxious are you? How depressed are you? He'll determine, not me. So I'm anxious about that examination. It's not until October 14th. I have a long time to be anxious.

I'm still struggling with "should's". My therapist says I shouldn't "should" myself.  I should be working. I should be cleaning the house. I should be mowing the lawn. I should be helping mom strip wallpaper at her house. I should be driving myself.  I should be better by now. I should, I should, I should.

On a side note, have you ever looked at a word for so long that it just doesn't look right? Should is that word right now. It just doesn't look right. OK, back on track.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to myself when I start thinking of those "should's".  Those are all things I truly feel like I should be doing. I feel a lot of guilt because I'm not doing them; especially working. I feel tremendous guilt over that; over not supporting myself. Yet, every time I think about working, which is often, I doubt myself. I doubt that 1. I'll be able to find a job and 2. that it won't end up exactly like every other job I've had. Anxiety-filled. At that point in my thinking, I pick up a book and read to take my mind off of thinking about it. But even then - even reading- makes me think about work because everybody in the book has a job. Everybody except me.

It's all just so ridiculous.

I believe I truly thought that getting on medication would solve all of my problems. That it was really just a chemical imbalance that the medication would fix. I'm realizing it's not that easy. Nothing ever is. I'm still anxious. I'm still depressed. Just less so. You know that asthma commercial about "coping not controlling".  Every time I see that I think of myself. I'm coping. Not controlling. It's about damn time I start controlling.

Can you tell me how to do that?

Maybe this will help. It's an article my friend sent to me. I think it's pretty funny but simplifies things too easily.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kate-bartolotta/happiness-tips_b_3956114.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009

My therapist told me at our last session that I've changed before; I can do it again. I drank for 22 years of my life. I changed that. I've been thinking shitty things about myself for just as long. I can change that too. I just wish it could happen within 28 days.

"I did not have three thousand pairs of shoes, I had one thousand and sixty." -Imelda Marcos

The second therapy session of the week and I didn't shed one tear. Not one. First time e-v-e-r.  It was nice. I had done something the night before that made that happen.

Every night when I'd try to fall asleep, I'd think about this one thing regarding my brother - something I had done to him, even when I was sober - and I'd feel so much shame, I could feel my body go red with it.  All I had to do was call him and apologize and beg forgiveness. He thinks I'm wacky. He barely remembered the incident. It was no big thing to him, but to me, it was shameful and I lived with that for a lot of years. It was nice to apologize.  He said, "Tell your therapist you're forgiven" and then he laughed.

The thing is, there are probably - No, there are - lots of other things I could feel shame for, especially during my drinking, but quite honestly, I don't even think of those. Maybe I've buried them so deep that I can't remember them.  Let's just leave those buried, shall we?

Remember I said I could spend the rest of the week in bed and it wouldn't make a bit of difference? Well, hell, that hasn't happened. Yesterday Dad came over late morning and we made a closet. Out of the closet I already had, but this is sooooooooo much better. I can't stop looking at it. I keep going to the door, opening it, and looking at the closet in wonder.

I had purchased those clothes rack-things from Target or Walmart at $20 a pop and had four of those holding up all of my clothes. Well, apparently my clothes were too many and too heavy for the clothes racks because two of them started leaning - hard. It was just a matter of time that they went ka-put. So Dad came up with this idea for the closet and I just love it.  See below.

I no longer have to worry, when I grab a pair of jeans, if the rack is going to completely fall apart or not. I have so much more room than I had before! I've got room for all of my shoes to be out. I have shelves to put my sweaters on once that season finally arrives. I just can't stop looking at it. Elvis thinks I'm crazy.  Well, join the club.

Well, that can't be good.

My therapist wants to see me twice a week. Thus the title. LOL. I've known from the beginning that she wanted to see me twice a week but thought, "oh for heaven's sake, I don't need that much therapy!" Apparently I didn't know what I was talking about. Of course I need more therapy. I think the whole world needs more therapy.

She didn't have any openings until October for twice a week so I was put on her cancellation list. There's a cancellation tomorrow.  I don't want to go but Mom thinks I should. I whined and said, "But it's sooooo draining".  I'm just like a petulant child.  I'm going and my first or second or third thought is, "What are we going to talk about? We just met today and all I did was cry".

Seriously, what's to talk about in two straight days. It isn't like I've had time to try out anything she taught me. I'm supposed to be self-forgiving, whatever that is and however that's done. I wish there was a manual or something. I'm supposed to let go of the past, again, however that's done, and live in the present. Well, hell, it isn't like my present is that great so maybe the past is better!

I think her ploy is this: I told her I could stay in bed the rest of this week and it wouldn't make a bit of difference to anyone. Guess what? Can't stay in bed tomorrow!

I am not looking forward to tomorrow.  More tears. More sobbing. More instructions. More, more, more. I'd like nothing better than to just bury all of this and never bring it out in the light of day ever again and just go through life faking happiness. I can do that, can't I?

Apparently not.

Apparently not.

“I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours.”- Stephen Roberts

I received all of your positive things about me on Sunday. Thank you for being so quick with your responses!  However, they all just made me cry. I cried when I read them. I cried when I re-read them. I cried when I printed them out (to carry along with me). I cried Sunday night and I cried all day Monday. I stayed in bed Monday. It felt like a stay-in-bed kind-of day. 

I cried because I want so badly to believe them. I cried because I don't understand why I don't. I cried because I felt loved. I cried because I feel undeserving of that. What it finally came down to is this: Why do I dislike myself so much? I think if I can understand that, then I can fix it. I don't think all the medication in the world can fix it but I think therapy (& I) can. 

So while it's still difficult to read this list, I'm going to post it so it is forevermore available. 

“It’s never too late—never too late to start over, never too late to be happy.”—Jane Fonda

I need help. Your help.

Every positive thing I think of myself, I turn negative. I'm a good housekeeper. No I'm not. I never clean enough. I'm lazy. I just don't want to do it. I'm smart. Am I? Not anymore. I think I'm stupid. I've grown dull & dimwitted. I'm a good conversationalist. No I'm not. I can't ever think of what to talk about. I just listen. There are a lot of silences due to my lack of conversation. I take good care of Elvis. Barely. I feed & water him. That's about it. I barely pay any attention to him. He's just a presence in my house. Like a cat-ghost.

Here's one. I'm a good reader. I can't dispute that.

That's all I've got.

So here's where you come in. Tell me some positive things about me and whether or not I believe them, they'll go on my list. I don't have to believe them. I just need them on the list so I can turn to it when I start thinking negative thoughts. Eventually, I'll start to believe the positive ones. That makes sense, right?

All I've really done the past few days is read. I've read a book a day. I'm going to be really sad when this series of books is completed and there aren't any more to read. I love series of books. One right after the other. The story just keeps going on & on & on.  So, if you have any suggestions for my next series of books to read, I'm all ears.

I've given you a lot of work to do in this post, haven't I? Good luck with it.

"What can be asserted without proof can be dismissed without proof." Christopher Hitchens

Today's a teary day. I think just about every therapy day is going to be teary days or long nap days for quite awhile.

I really don't like myself.

I need to work on that. I'm supposed to write down a list of positive things about myself.  I can't even start. I can't even think. What's so positive about me? All I think about is the negative.

1. I don't have a job.
2. I'm a loser.
3. I'm selfish.
4. I'm lazy.
5. I'm no better now than I was before.
6. I'll always be a problem.
7. Who would even like me?
8. I'm a burden to my family.

See? Plenty of negatives. She knew this would be hard for me. She could tell as I sat in her office trying to think of one. Just one. I couldn't.

I'm still supposed to recognize my negative thinking (such as this entire blog post) and turn it around. I'm supposed to turn it around by thinking of my list of positive things. Ummmmmm. I see a problem here.

Thank the FSM I checked out a large amount of books from the library to just distract me enough to not think at all. As long as I can read, I'll be o.k.

If at first you don't succeed, then skydiving is not for you.

My stairs are no longer crooked!

Well maybe just a hair. Or maybe I'm just crooked so everything looks crooked to me. That's why I need Mom to help me hang things on the walls. I can't tell what's straight and what's crooked.

There's still more work to be done before this particular contractor is finished. I can't wait for him to be done. Seriously. How long is this going to drag on? It's interrupting my reading.

I'm been devouring books. I can't read fast enough. I don't have enough books to devour. Tomorrow's therapy day so Mom & I get to hit the library afterward and pick up some more. I'm going to check out as many as I possibly can. Though, usually I'm wiped out after therapy day so I imagine a nap will be in order, unless there's hammering outside my door.

The change in meds seems to be working. I'm not sleepy in the afternoon and haven't napped for a few days. I seem to be sleeping better through the night, though I still wake up starting around 3 - mostly in a haze so I don't even remember it. I have noticed a change in my appetite. I have less of one, which is actually a good thing because those bowls of ice cream & chunky peanut butter were going right to my waist. Don't get me wrong- I'm still eating them, but now I have to force myself to eat something 'normal' before dessert. That's the deal I made with myself- I can't have 'dessert' until I've eaten something resembling a meal. I could live on ice cream and chunky peanut butter.

I still have bouts of pretty severe anxiety - especially when I start thinking about going back to work. Like I have anything to worry about - who's going to hire me after such a long absence from the workforce? See? Right there! That's a negative thought that I need to neutralize. I don't know how. I picture myself working at McDonald's. It makes me want to cry. Even thinking about working at Kum & Go or BP seems like a challenge too big for me to handle. I'm no idiot, but I sure feel like one.

Ahh well, something to discuss in therapy tomorrow, right?

At least I have semi-straight stairs! Yippee!

There was a crooked woman who lived in a crooked house which had crooked stairs....

Sounds like an old nursery rhyme, doesn't it? Except I don't want to be "crooked". I want to be "witchy".

Here's the new porches!!!!!

New stairs!!!! Notice they're crooked, thus the title...

I'm so happy the work is almost done. I don't even care if the painting has to wait until next Spring. I'm just so happy to have a non-leaky roof, non-leaky basement, porches that can hold my weight and stairs people won't fall down.

I met with the doctor today and what I had hoped to happen, happened! We're spreading out the Klonipin so I'm taking it at 8AM, 2PM & 8PM to maybe help with my sleepiness during the day and waking up all night; and we've added another dose of Wellbutrin, which I take at 8AM, 12PM & 4PM. I have to write this shit down or I won't know what to take, when.

I'm reading again which is always a good sign in my book when it comes to my version of depression. If I'm not reading, I'm depressed. I'm so glad I can sit down and finish a book in a day. It makes me feel less like a loser; like I've actually accomplished something.

I have a headache, so I'm going to go drink some coffee and stare out the window at my new porch while sitting in the AC. I know. I'm crooked.

How many thoughts do you have in a day?

I made it my mission yesterday to write down every thought I had. I thought I'd fill a book.  I filled a page and a 1/2. Apparently I don't have as many thoughts as I thought I had. I really do just sit and stare at the t.v. without a single thought in my head for the majority of the day.  And the only negative thoughts I had were, well, lame. Such as, I heard the word "reliable" on t.v. and thought, "that's not me". I'm afraid my therapist is going to be seriously disappointed.

It's hard to write down every thought you have in a day. I had to catch myself....I'd be thinking about something and I'd think, "oh shit, I need to write this down".  I wish I had a hand-held tape recorder. That would have helped tremendously.

I think my cold has run it's course and is starting at the beginning again. I'm sneezing. I'm blowing my nose (thank the FSM I can blow my nose) and I'm coughing up phlegm. Shouldn't it be going away by now? My left shoulder/arm is killing me. It's hurt for months now and doesn't seem to get any better. I keep putting icy hot on the area and then ice it at night. It's the same thing that hurt my right shoulder months ago so I know it just takes time to heal, but damn I'm sick of it.

Tomorrow's my appointment with the doctor for a med check. I have some suggestions. We'll see if she goes along with them or not, because, well, ya know, I know what's best. :)

I'm going to die choking on my own snot.

I really do feel better, though I'm still blowing my nose non-stop and coughing up a lot of phlegm.  But I really do feel better.  I just want to sleep all the time. That makes me wonder if it's part of this cold or if it has to do with being depressed.

I'm not crying uncontrollably, but that doesn't mean I'm better.  I still sit on my ass way too much, doing nothing. It still takes a lot to get me out of bed. Hell, I've been sleeping in until 7:30 most mornings!  Unreal. And then I nap during the day, and when I say I nap, I nap hard. Two hours at least. I only feel minor-ly better.  I'm glad the crying has stopped at least.

I have therapy this morning and last week, we left it at "I don't like myself very much". I imagine that's where we'll start again today and I'll be blubbering mess. It's a good thing Mom drives me to these appointments because I'm not sure I'd make my way home afterward. And I have to read my blog to 'remember' what I did throughout the week.  This past week, I mostly blew my nose and slept. Exciting stuff to discuss in therapy.

The work on my porches has finally begun. I do not foresee a nap in my future today or tomorrow or the next day because they're so loud. I'm thrilled the work has begun and am excited to see the end result.  Final project: exterior paint which should begin shortly.  And then....nothing.  The house will be perfect. :)

Later the same day......

Well, I'm back from therapy and boy it was rough. Rough for two reasons. 1. I don't like myself very much so we talked a lot about that and how I need to recognize & keep track of the negative self-talk and at the very least try to neutralize it. And 2. This cold makes it difficult to talk without coughing or choking and I blew my nose so much I had her move her trash can closer to me.

I'm wiped out and just want to fall asleep on my comfy couch but I can't do that because there are men directly outside my living room thankfully working on my porch. I think I may just crawl into bed.

Just for the record, the weather today is stuffy and phlegmy with a chance of projectile sneezing.

Day 3 of my idea of hell - not being able to breathe through my nose. I've made my way through the plethora of over the counter decongestants I have in my homemade pharmacy and nothing has worked yet, though one made me pretty loopy so that was fun.

I catch myself breathing through my mouth and hurriedly clamp it shut and breathe through the one nostril that still has 50% oxygen passage. I don't think it's enough oxygen to my brain, so I keep catching myself breathing through  my mouth. I should just put duct tape over it. Speaking of, I was thinking this morning during my bath that we sure are lucky to have two ways to get oxygen - nose & mouth.  I'm pretty sure I'd be dead by now if our noses were the only way we could get oxygen.

I catch myself making these odd noises.  First of all, when I try to blow my nose, it either honks or squeaks. And I sigh a lot.  A. LOT. Or I say "Oh Mama" which then gets me singing Styx "Oh mama I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law...."  Or I say Mama Mia which then gets me singing "Mama Mia, here I go again, my-my, how can I resist  you?"  It's really quite annoying because I don't care for either song but that's where my brain goes when I say to Elvis, "Oh mama, this sucks".

So yesterday I pretty much spent the day on the couch trying to sleep.  Brother Ben stopped by around 9 (I remember thinking it was surely later than that; like 2 o'clock at least- I was pretty drugged).  Dad popped in around the same time to get his tools from my garage. I watched The Great Gatsby. Good movie, but it was hard to keep my head from bobbing up & down.  I even slept and woke up promptly at 8:00PM so I could watch Hell on Wheels on AMC. That made me smile, as snot was running out of my nose.

Today will be much of the same. Mom has banned me from being outdoors which I find hilarious because the damage is already done and what am I supposed to do? Stay inside the rest of the summer? OK!  I can do that! I'd enjoy that. I'd welcome that. Thank you very much, I'm happy here!  I can see it now - I'll be like bubble-boy.