Editing, therapy, and other bullshit

Editing, therapy, and other bullshit

I had a good therapy session. We talked about my father and the day he died as well as other stuff he loved to do to make my life miserable. We didn’t end the session on a good note so I was feeling perplexed. I walked to the station, thinking about the things we talked about and decided I was going to get a steak and cheese sub for dinner. I have to remember to bring my inhaler with me now that it is freaking cold. My lung passages doesn’t like the cold air and I have been wheezing and coughing. I came home feeling like shit. Both feet were hurting. I had to wash my jacket and I figured I might as well wash my scarf and hat, too. I don’t know when they were washed last. The jacket smelled so it has been a while.

I went up to my room and texted my middle sister. We talked for a bit. I didn’t tell her how awful I have been feeling. I kind of wanted to but held back. I told my mother I didn’t want a party and she was like what about cake. No one likes the fucking cake. It goes to fucking waste! So I told her to make cupcakes instead and then people can pick it if they wanted to. But I only want my sisters and nieces and nephew. No one else. I guess that was a compromise as I really don’t even want to. I hate my fucking birthday so much. I really wish I wasn’t born some days.

I played with my phone saying I was going to edit my book and as I reached for a long sleeved shirt because I was cold, my damn foot went berserk. Fucking great. I had just taken a breakthrough pill like 10 minutes prior. WTF. My feet were cold so I carefully put my throw on then got my heating pad and gently put that on. Foot is still hurting but heat sometimes helps so here is to crossing fingers. I got my book and my axing tools (highlighter and pencil). I read a few chapters and one chapter got me. I was like shit, I wrote this? Sometimes I am amazed at what I write and other times, I am like that is such shit. One story, I axed a paragraph. I am just barely over 32,000 words for this book. This will bring me under 32,000. Just wonderful. Short story book is short. It is only around 124 pages, which includes the copyright page and title. Maybe I can find a blog or two I can add. I have done a lot of writing since then. But I want this book out by this weekend. I don’t want it sitting around because writing is hard. I worked on this book for two years and after 6 months of not coming up with anything new, I just said fuck it, I am publishing it (after I briefly edited it).

I know I am going to flare tonight. I had to walk to my therapist’s office because I missed the bus and I didn’t feel like waiting 20-25 minutes for the next one. I could walk there faster than that. So I did. And then I walked back. My heel is killing me for some reason. I don’t think it is liking the gel thing I bought anymore. I might have to do without for a while and see how I feel. But right now my CRPS foot is yelling at me. I just stood up to get another Powerade and OMG it screamed. Actually both ankle bones and foot screamed. I was going to take my Neurontin at 9pm but I am taking them with my night meds at 8. Fuck it. I am hurting and I know it is going to be a rough night. It will be a miracle if I sleep before midnight. Just hope tonight isn’t a fucking Christmas tree lighting up night. That is when different parts of my ankle and foot hurt with different pains all over and kind of switch from one area to another and then back again. FUCKING SUCKS!!! I never know what kind of weird pain I am going to be in.

My med alarm updated. So because I have two alerts in the morning for the different meds I take, it cancels out the noise. It will go off and then shut off. I think I will have to take one of the meds off the alert as I take all three together.

An hour ago, I had an anxiety attack which was an hour and a half after I took my night meds which includes Ativan. I knew from last week, it was the beginning of a pain flare. Yup. Suicidal ankle pain has started. I just want to fucking die. I have no idea when I am going to sleep. I am not going to edit my book. I will try tomorrow if I have some clear headed time. Fuck and I wanted to bake cookies tomorrow. Fuck this sucks!!

any thoughts?

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