In a previous post I talked about a quote from Justified about a man, a recovering addict, being one broken shoelace away from using again. It wasn't the last pist but the one before it. Go on: read it and come back here. I'm too tired to put in the link.
Good? Okay.
You get the idea of my shoelace breaking whether you remember the quote, whether you went back and read the post or not. If you are new here let me clarify that I was talking about final straws in general. Addiction isn't my issue.
Anxiety is.
It's been a rough week. Being awake at 1:31 am because of the ragweed hairball isn't helping. If you don't have allergies, let me explain. When the pollen / oxygen ratio in the air is really really bad, my immune system tells my blood dy to really kick up the production of mucus. Mucus mucus mucus. (Say this like Andy says, "Murder murder murder" in Hot Fuzz. If you don't know Hot Fuzz then I can't help you.)
Anyway. My body is in wartime mucus production mode, thanks to my immune system. The same immune system that is actively attacking my thyroid, beeteedubs. The little sh#t. When I lie down all of that mucus sort of settles at the lowest point at that time. That's a spot at the back of my throat -- below the sinuses but not actually going down the esophagus (which is more or less a horizontal pipe now). And the mucus backs up and backs up until I disturb it by rolling over in my sleep.
So that's where I am right now. Physically awake and upright trying to get that wad of mucus movin' along so I can lie down without choking. Mentally still more asleep than awake. Emotionally f#cked and wanting to sleep forever.
So I'm propped up in bed trying to remember the post I planned to write before this week just ground me down. Torii -- whose exceptional bad kittiness is not helping me at this time and who is definitely not my friend -- is purring on my lap. I'd kick her off, again, except I'm hoping the healing power of the purr will do me some good.
And I'm sucking on a granny candy to help my throat because I need a break from cough drops.
You know conversion syndrome? There's a newer, better term I wrote down at work but forgot to bring home with me. It's when a mental illness creates an actual diagnosable physical disease to get your attention and make you seek some kind of doctor at least. Bestie had RA (rheumatoid arthritis) for several years. RA is hard to treat, mostly just meds to reduce pain and swelling -- meds with some pretty nasty side effects. Bestie's RA didn't respond to any treatment. The meds did nothing but interfere with her other meds and make her sick. And then . . . she didn't have RA anymore. Which is not how RA works. There is no cure and you don't just get over it. Except she did because her RA was caused by her anxiety disorder and depression. Her mind knew she had to slow way the hell down and get out the f the psychologically damaging situation she was in so it gave her a disease. Or at least that's how I interpreted it.
I'm pretty sure that's what my chronic pancreatitis is. Maybe the Hashimoto's Syndrome, too. Whatever.
And now I think my car has a conversion syndrome disease. Every few weeks for at least the last six months my tire pressure warning light comes on. (This is not including times I legit damaged a tire driving through one of the many construction zones between my home and my job.) One time all four tires were seriously low although the mechanic couldn't find a leak. Once or twice they weren't low at all. Usually one or more tires are just a bit low, enough that the mechanic can actually put in more air while being surprised it triggered the sensor.
For about the same amount of time the light warning has been on. There might really be a bulb out, but if so it's like a parking light or something else nonessential. The headlights, taillights, brake lights, and turn signals work. Except twice, for the length of a car trip, the right turn signal stopped working. And made that super speed spastic broken turn signal sound. The two incidents were maybe theee weeks apart, with the turn signal fine before and after each event.
Today -- well yesterday at this point -- going to work two highway department guys were putting out new lane closed construction signs. Except it was really windy so one of the signs blew over into traffic. Drivers swerved to avoid the legs of the sign while the highway guys dodged traffic to fix the sign.
All at seventy miles per hour on the interstate.
One semi driver pulled and pulled on his horn, but you know what dude, there's some serious sh#t going on and while I appreciate that semis are not designed to change speed quickly that's what's happening here and you're just going to have to make it happen somehow. We can't just get out of your way because you were dangerously tailgating and don't have room to compensate now.
Then there was something else weird -- something beyond the usual everyday weird of that strip -- but I can't even remember it right now. And I suddenly realized my car is sick because it can't stand driving through this insanity five days a week. And I don't blame it.
So for both of our sakes I have got to find a new job. Our nerves really can't take it anymore.
p.s. The painters are finished. I got home long after dark so I haven't really seen it yet. I need to touch up the trim in a few places. Then I can take pics and upload invoices and whatever else to the insurance company. Which a part of my brain is already fretting and wringing its hands over.
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