Let’s make s’mores.

The time left until my big, exciting appointment with the Endocrinologist is   s. l. o. w. l. y   ticking away.  Every day seems like a year.  Every minute seems like an hour in which the world is sitting on my shoulder saying, “You don’t hold us up very well, woman.  Your shoulders are weak.  You need to workout more.” 

Tabitha D’umo looks at me from the cover of her stupid Dance DVD.  Mocking me.  I entertain thoughts of burning her face up in a bonfire as I dance around it, naked, in my front yard.  But it is below freezing, and I can’t find my matches.  Darn.

Last week was a long, long week.  Lots of good.  Lots of bad.  We fight.  I snip.  I apologize.  We butt heads.  We talk.  I cry.  We laugh.  We cuddle in bed and then fall asleep.

The next day, it happens all again.  I just want to sleep all day.  Can I please just sleep all day?  I don’t want to be a human today.  I want to sit in the corner and stare at the wall.  Also.  I want to stop having frizzy hair that breaks if you look at it wrong, and brittle nails that do the same.  My back locks up and my neck goes stiff on me.  I find patches of dry skin on my feet that look like this:

My back will.not.stop.itching.  It itches in an insane way.  Sometimes, it feels like the skin is trying to crawl off of my body.  I don’t blame it.  The other day, I scratched it with a ruler, absently, while thinking about the curtain tiebacks I wanted to install.  Today, looking at my back in the mirror, I noticed that I had scratched long rivets into my back at some point, probably with the ruler.  I didn’t even realize it.  That’s how bad it itches.

On the days when I can actually get out of the house (like Monday, thank you, Alli!) things feel better.  The motto is, “Movement in Sunshine.”  It seems to help with the Depression Symptoms.  But the lump in my throat.  That choking feeling.  And that world.  On my shoulders. Oy.

Please help me, Mrs. Endocrinologist.  And tell me this paper you sent that says, “payment in full is due at time of service” was just a mean joke you like to play.  Please?

Oh, look.  I just found my matches.  Wanna meet me in the front yard, my friends?  Bring your marshmallows.

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Burn, Baby, Burn!

I like to play with fire.

Once, my dad got ultra P-O’d at me for playing “camping” outside on a winter day. Why would that make a dad mad? Because of the part where I built a campfire right up against the house.

What?

Anyway, that’s not really the point. I like to wander off-topic sometimes.

I wanted to tell everyone that I just went and FeedBurned my blog feed.

“What the heck are you talking about?”

It’s this thingy that can be used with your site’s feed, and blahblahblah… but the reason why I’m telling you is that I don’t know if it’s going to:

A) Mess up the feeds for CURRENT subscribers
B) Mess everything up in general.

SO… if you subscribe to my feed, and something seems weird… you may need to re-subscribe or something. I apologize for the suckness of that. Please stick with me!

I love you, and stuff!

Don’t make me come play “camping” at your house.

(it is entirely likely that nothing sucky will come of the whole new feed thingie. I just wanted to warn, in case)

Also, you will notice on the sidebar that you can easily subscribe with options there, even via e-mail notification! Pretty swanky, eh?