Over a month. Yeah. I have sucked as a blogger, here. Again. I think about things I want to talk about, think that they aren't worth talking about and I don't. Or I figure that I am so nattery on Facebook why bother or whatever. But what the fuck? This is my blog. I'll write what I want, when I want.
Duh!
That was kind of liberating.
Speaking of which...
I got on the scale at a doctor's office last week and:
Yeah, I know. What I didn't know, because I was too chicken shit to get on my scale was just how much...
I am back up to 371.
Needless to say, I am madder than a wet hen at myself. I am doing something about it. Hence having been at a doctor's. More deets to come, as things progress. What I will say is I am back on track eating better. I am going to get back out walking next week. This shit has got to stop. It is going to stop. I am not getting any younger and I can't expect to keep dodging a bullet as far as my health is concerned, forever. Especially with my frightening family history!
We are still in the condo. I don't understand William's malfunction. I mean, seriously. He doesn't even seem interested in house hunting. Not even interested. WHY????????????????? I am so. Fucking. Over this place. Over it like a cat is over a bath. Over it. I am sick of opening my windows to enjoy the cool evening breeze and getting a face full of my neighbor's cigarette smoke. I am sick of not being able to sleep with an open bedroom window for the same reason. I am tired of being cramped into this small place. I need more room. I want one level. I would like all hard surface floors. We had the broadloom shampooed which has made this place more pleasant and a lot cleaner but still...
Broadloom is disgusting. And I am over it, too.
Bitch, bitch, bitch.
But seriously. I can't figure the hubbs out. I just can't. Why is he so in love with staying here? I mention hunting and he rolls his head, gets that muleish look, changes the subject. I am sick of his bullshit. Really. Sick of it. I am ready to throw something at his head. Something heavy and covered in spikes.
With my luck I'd miss. I throw like a girl.
Not an athletic girl. A wimpy, weak armed, mall crawler girl.
So, Topmax. Or the generic,Topiramate. My cheap-ass insurance. It likes generic. Same shit, Whatever. Anywhoozle, it worked great for a couple of weeks. I only had a couple of auras and minimal, Cat. 1-2 pain. Now, not so much. But it helps me sleep which is good, my sleep rhythms go to hell in the Summer, for some reason and I sleep like shit, this time of year, and I don't want to stop taking it until I see my doc, again so I keep on, hoping it will magically start working, again. Ha! Fat chance. Migraines blow. They suck ass.
I can't wait until next Saturday. I have an appointment to have my hair done. I have roots out to here and my fringe needs trimmed.
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