Last week we left off in the middle of the terrible panic attack that had been brewing for some time.
If you know your mid- to late-2000s tv, you've probably already figured out the theme of today's post. My Name Is Earl. If you somehow missed the gem of feel-good morality play absurdity, go binge it now. We'll wait.
Okay, I'll summarize -- but only if you solemnly swear you'll stream it as soon as we finish here.
Earl is not a good person. Petty criminal. Bully. One day as he's enjoying his breakfast beer and cigs, he wins $100,000 on a lottery scratch-off. And gets hit by a car.
The winning scratcher blows away.
He wakes in the hospital, and, woozy with morphine, learns about karma from a late night talk show host.
Do good things and good things will come to you.
All of that is the opening narration. Each 20ish minute episode is Earl trying to atone for the bad things he's done. He has a list.
I wondered if I needed to make a karma list on Saturday.
The panic subsided again. I didn't feel totally normal but at this point I'm not even sure what that is anyway. I was functional, which was definitely a big improvement. Then two things happened that made me wonder if I was a right bitch in a different plane of reality.
I got the results of my latest thyroid bloodwork.
The low tire light came on about 20 miles from home.
Long story not-so-short, if the universe was trying to teach me a lesson, it wasn't karma. It was about the uselessness of pre-worrying. Maybe. Something like that.
Seriously why does this sh*t happen on the weekend?
So I fretted all Sunday about the tires and having to get up extra early so I can have them checked first thing Monday AM and my god wasn't I just at the garage with the explided tire?! And we my tire worries slipped, I swapped them for medical concerns.
And now it's Monday. I got up extra early, earlier than my usual 'I'm up early but no so early that I can just back to sleep'. And tires are fines. No huge screws or smashed crates forcing huge holes in the rubber. No slow leak even. The theory is the pressure was set at the lowest end of okay and what with all of the crazy temp extremes and dodgy road conditions the tires all lost just enough air to trip the sensor.
And my thyroid? The bloodwork showed a really crazy high level of thyroid-hating antibodies, which means my thyroid problems come from an autoimmune disease. Hashimoto's Disease, actually. My doctor's office called and, at least for now, this doesn't change my treatment. Basically, now I know Hashimoto's caused my thyroid issues. But I don't know what caused Hashimoto's. Could be genetic (my mom says no, but most of my dad's side had a laundry list of health probs and died before thyroid testing was common). Or maybe I was exposed to lots of radiation (uh, pretty sure not). So the root cause must be stress.
Sorry. No witty ending. I'm beat. I can't keep eyes open.
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