Category Archives: Writing

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

Tonight’s #dsma was intruded upon by a Paleo fanatic perpetuating myths about T2 diabetes and carb intake and remission and shit. So not cool. (At least he didn’t say the “c” word – cure, right? Ugh.)

A couple things I later tweeted:

Extremists in food philosophy can bite me. Respect my choices that bring me health, I’ll respect yours.

Don’t pay attention to what others say you should/shouldn’t eat. Everyone has to decide for themselves (Paleo, vegetarian, vegan, etc etc).

Off healthy eating soapbox.

***

At a crossroads. Lots of decisions need to be made in the next few weeks. Dealing with it in the usual Rachel way – procrastinating by focusing on less meaningful stuff. Okay, so reading isn’t meaningless, it just distracts me from what I need to be doing.

Insomnia is back, which doesn’t help. (Maybe because I’m procrastinating on big decisions? Or did I get mildly addicted to Benadryl after two weeks of hive control?)

My family is awesome. I used to have a hard time saying that, but the birthday cards this year? All around, perfect. Gives me a little push out of the procrastination.

Especially the words of my sister’s card (from Carlton Cards):

“Believe in the power of wishes, hopes, and hugs. That small things can be mighty, and big ideas can be reality. That anything is possible. And most of all… Believe in yourself. I know I do. You’re a great sister, and I hope this year is really happy for you.”

(Of course, drawings from two-and-a-half-year-olds warm the heart, too.)

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

I had more to say last week. To write, to explore. Not much this week, and so begins another edition of “the rambly fifteen”.

Watching the D-1 women’s basketball championship. Kind of hoping for a Notre Dame upset, which is a strange concept. The part about wanting Notre Dame to win, I mean.

There’s some study out this week that says 33 is the perfect age for happiness. Ha. Other than my twin nieces being born, 33 was a pretty rough year. A major health scare of another family member, my own emergency open abdominal surgery and a five-day hospital stay, then finding out that my reproductive system was/is a hot mess and knowing I’d need another open surgery to clean up what couldn’t be done during the first one.

That being said, I am holding out hope that 36 is a great year when I turn that age in a mere six days. That it will be the year of awesome. I deserve that after a few years of suck. Right?

I wrote some crappy poetry tonight amidst the pizza-and-wine routine I partake in every week or two. What can I say, National Poetry Month brings out the crappy poet in me.

I wrote some crappy poetry, and I’m writing this rambly blog post. When I should be working on my résumé. Getting some cold feet about such a big move, though. Which makes me wonder about those hives being stress-related.

After a week of those hives, I think the itching and scratching is finally over now that none of that has happened for 48 hours. Avoidance of ibuprofen is now of utmost importance until I can confirm with an allergist. Or dermatologist. Not sure which I should see when I am ready to confirm that sort of information. Again, it could all be stress-related.

Snow is over and spring will return tomorrow. As a friend said, I see the snow as flame-retardant against wildfires…

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

What’s the point of open source software if you have to leave a donation to download it? (Ok, ok, I downloaded anyways because I am in desperate need of a Microsoft Office alternative.)

Hot dogs and red wine. I can be so classy sometimes. (There were also roasted brussels sprouts and pesto stuffed mushrooms involved, just to counteract the trashiness of the hot dogs.)

Late to work yesterday thanks to wonderful overnight occurrences: two (2) episodes of a vomiting cat and one (1) episode of a CO2 detector’s battery dying. Sleep finally happened at 3:30am after finally determining that a lack of alarm clock might actually assist in achieving sleep.

Now I feel like I will never catch up on sleep this week. Certainly did not help that a long, dragged out work training took up the morning. People told me I looked tired this afternoon. Um, thanks?

Clean bill of eye health yesterday, by the way. While diabetes-related eye complications are always in the back of the mind, I also know that I am high risk of glaucoma thanks to occasional blood pressure issues, not to mention the extreme nearsightedness and astigmatism with which I’ve been blessed (ha). Hoping that next ophthalmologist will actually dilate my eyes…

Headed back to Wisconsin in a few weeks, thanks to frequent flier miles my dad used. It took a lot for me to accept that help, but I did it and it helps everyone involved, not just me. My family needs me every bit as much as I need them.

No sushi since July. I should probably fix that. Soon.

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

Wine. White wine. White wine that assisted in making the first linguine with clam sauce I have prepared in more than a year. I loved this stuff as a kid, as early as six years old. I mean the linguine with clam sauce, not the white wine. (Also loved fried clam strips at the nearby Bob Chinn’s Crab House.)

Draw Something is the new Words With Friends. It makes me laugh so hard when others try to guess what I’m drawing..and vice versa. I can’t wait until my brother catches onto it. (If he does.)

As per usual, work is work. Ahead of schedule on some things, way ahead of schedule on other things; hoping I can be ahead of the game on other things.

Next week is all of this: spectacular mental health professional appointment, seventh anniversary of type 2 diabetes diagnosis, very possible sashimi dinner extravaganza. Week after that, annual eye appointment – a bit concerned over increase in ocular migraines (the kind that come with aura, but no actual headache, possibly due to stress).

Almost certain that I will be visiting family in Wisconsin in late April. Score!

Meanwhile, I will be consuming corned beef this weekend instead of next. Probably Saturday, or even Friday. Maybe Sunday after my 4-mile walk? Very possible I will downgrade to the 2-mile walk. Just not feeling in enough shape to do a 4-mile timed walk. (There’s a 5k walk coming very close to me soon and I WILL do that.)

Next weekend, I will visit a somewhat authentic Irish pub for St. Patrick’s Day, thank you very much.

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

Leap day. Leap year. (I am proud of being born in a leap year with a brother born in a leap year and a father born in a leap year.)

Of course, the whole leap day thing leads to thoughts  of time, and of how slowly it passes these days. I could not catch up to how fast time moved in the early part of my thirties; now that life is full of turmoil, it cannot move fast enough. I know I should stop and smell the roses and take in these moments because they are all not full of tears and anguish. (Well, the roses would make my eyes water and itch.) And before I know it, I will find myself behind the time again.

I don’t know what is worse to hear in the middle of the night, the sound of a cat puking or of both cats hissing at each other.

The assignment is clear from spectacular mental health professional, to find things that bring me joy in whatever time is left in Colorado. It could be taking a cooking class or a writing class, but also places I always wanted to visit but never did for whatever reason. Or places I did visit, that seem to deflect me away for either good or bad memories, to create one last good memory. A little harder to accomplish without driving, though at least a friend or two are willing to help create a memory.

It’s been a rough week on the emotions.

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

High wind warning began last night. Local weather broadcasters were not kidding when they said it “might” interfere with sleep. Of course, the cat on the pillow did not help matters. I wish I could say I could stay home and safe, though going to work is necessary.

Even though I dread going after finding a significant error that will require some bullshitting.

Good thing there is coffee. Coffee makes the world go round some mornings. Most mornings.

Chicago. What is there to say? (What isn’t there to say?)

The weather stayed nice for me, winter coat and gloves required, but not terribly cold as I remember Midwest winters, thanks to the mild season they have had so far.

The people with whom I interacted (some of whom I already knew, some completely new to me) made me feel like I was already “home”. Home will always reside in the houses of immediate family members and be in the presence of said family, of course, though I know I have been missing a sense of my own “home” this past year.

Lots of good food and drink and neighborhood scouting. And I can never turn down a good secondhand store or a bookstore. The 3-day CTA pass got some good wear and tear on both the “L” and city buses. (What a difference from RTD with how often those buses run. Cheers to a bigger city!)

Bananagrams may be the most fantastic game since Scrabble, and less strategizing is needed, making it go quicker than the average Scrabble game.

One of these days, I need to write a post of substance outside the Rambly Fifteen, Weekly Grace, and Friday cat blogging. This is not that day. Writing prompts from the chronic illness communities have got me thinking, though. Something will bubble to the surface, I am convinced of it.

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

Survived Valentine’s Day. Never really having been a fan, it was fairly easy to survive except for the flowers delivered to the next cubicle. Not because I was jealous or anything, but because I am allergic. (To flowers, to perfume, to anything with much of a scent.)

The cuddly felines turned out to be the best valentines all day. Surprise, surprise.

Amber Riley knocked “I Will Always Love You” out of the park last night on Glee. She met Whitney Houston last Thursday, apparently, which makes me smile in spite of the tragedy. Yes, there was a history of drug abuse; yes, WH ended up with a troubled life after a brilliant start to her career. The fact remains, she’s still loved by her family and surely they are going through hell. To have people make jokes or say that it was bound to happen, that’s just cruel to those left behind. Especially that daughter barely into adulthood.

And, yes, other less famous people died that day and the day before and the day after. I get that. However, the ten-year-old girl who watched “How Will I Know?” over and over and over on MTV and then later at seventeen watched The Bodyguard with delight, even as “I Will Always Love You” played over and over and over on MTV and the radio? They’re grieving. Much much more than when Michael Jackson died.

(I will say that I’m about done with that cover of Dolly Parton’s country hit from the 1970′s. I have possibly heard it more times in the past few days than I did in all of 1993.)

Back to exercising this week after nearly two weeks off due to the crud. Blood glucose readings are still doing well in spite of (a) the crud and (b) not exercising.

Lots going on at work, keeping busy, keeping frustrated.

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

Day #6 of this …crud. Worse than a cold, not as bad as the fun of influenza. Although, current theory is that it is indeed upper respiratory flu, mitigated by the fact I did enjoy a flu shot a few months back.

First four days were all about aches, fever, chills, fatigue, stuffiness, coughing. Last couple days have been more of recovery, still sniffly and still coughing and still way fatigued.

Luckily, alarm clock cat (Perl) has been kind enough to let me sleep all the way to the real alarm. And I have no trouble falling asleep either, not with the humidifier with its white noise fan and help with opening up those nasal passages and lungs.

What have I been doing besides those activities directly related to the crud? Watching a ton of television. Reading magazines (no patience for actual books in this state). Doing research for upcoming quick trip to Chicago. Fussing over lost sick time (and as of today, some vacation time, too). Going mad with cabin fever.

Yeah, I am the girl who got sick just as Denver started getting hit with repeated snow events and cold temperatures. There seems to be no end in immediate sight, either, and the last thing I want to do is spend too much time out in the crappy weather and not get well.

Cabin fever also entails the inability to work out. The appetite was quite low while I was feverish, so there’s that in maintaining weight. However, I hate not working out. Not that I had really established a routine, and had been really sporadic in frequency of exercising before getting the crud…but I determined a big goal mere days before the crud invaded.

I still have that goal in mind – to walk that 7k on my mom’s birthday. In 32 days. Here’s to maybe getting back to exercise by Saturday? One can hope.

Fifteen minutes straight writing…begin…right…now.

Upon telling my mother yesterday about my plans to walk a 7k on her birthday, she replied “don’t you worry you will be cold?”. The thing is, in March, it could be anywhere from 70F and sunny to 20F and snowing.

It felt awesome to workout last night, knowing that I have this goal ahead of me. It helped that I made a couple full meals on Sunday for this week, so that I have no excuse not to exercise in that respect. Because if I don’t often feel like cooking during the week when I get home from work, add exercise as soon as I do get home, and I really don’t feel like cooking.

I want to go snowshoeing, but there is no snow down “on the flats”. Thinking about escaping to the close-in ski resort that has a nordic center one of these Saturday or Sundays.

This morning is the endocrinologist appointment I postponed twice. Already have the blood work results that were done in December when I forgot I had postponed the appointment a second time. So all that really needs to happen is a foot check, and a physical thyroid exam to make sure it’s not bulging out or anything. Oh, I’m sure we’ll discuss a statin once again, even though my cholesterol went down. Still not buying into the idea that I need one right now.

It has been almost fifteen minutes and I feel like there’s not much on my mind this morning. Maybe it’s too early for the girl whose cat (Perl) likes to be an alarm clock, especially on the days when the girl can sleep in a little.