November

A few weeks ago, I wondered whether I should write a novel for NaNoWriMo or knit a sweater for NaSweKniMo. The reason it was an either/or proposition is that they are of course both November, and while in theory a person could write a complete novel AND knit a complete sweater in a single month, there are extenuating circumstances, such as that I have a job.

And so I made the choice I always make when confronted with two options: do nothing instead.

Happy _____________

Tomorrow is my birthday, but my family is making today "My Birthday Observed" for reasons of scheduling. That's fine by me. But today marks a very special anniversary: Exactly one year ago, I was leaving the gym and spied something small and white darting around the parked cars in the lot. When I realized that this was a kitten and it was alone, I started trying to catch her. I enlisted Rachel and Dad to bring some smelly wet food and a carrier, and once they showed up with the goods, the actual capture of the kitten was easy.

We weren't planning to KEEP Hazel-- we already had three cats, so we were going to just foster her. But she started purring when we brought her in, and didn't stop for several days. How can you say no to a sweetie like that?

And so, what would have just been the day of her rescue turned into the date she got a permanent (purr-manent!) home.

She has grown to be pretty big at about 12 pounds, though she's still tiny compared to the boys. And even though she's the youngest cat, she has the oldest, biggest voice, and lots to say.

We love you, Hazel!!

And also Happy Birthday to me.

I have failed...

So, a couple of weeks ago, I felt a strong and certain calling: write.
And here I have been, not writing. I was elated, ah! I know at last what I am to do with my life! What a relief!
In my excitement, I sort of forgot to actually start doing it.
Oops.
I'm terrible at not sucking.

Thursday was my work-from-home day, but I ended up not getting much work done because I was busy with my real full-time job: Going to medical appointments.

First off, I had to get blood drawn. I've gotten blood drawn many times that didn't result in any consciousness-related problems, but this was not one of those times. There was a spot of trouble regarding the needle actually getting into my vein, at which point I mentioned that I might like to lie down.

I didn't get to lie down as quickly as I would have liked, so I slid right on out of the special chair and into some alternate dimension until I was pulled back by the sharp smell of ammonia. It's always weird when I faint like that, because it isn't the same thing as sleeping, really. I guess maybe I go immediately into the dream phase of my sleep, but it mostly feels like I've just moved into another reality, and I never want to leave. I always hate it when they wake me up--today I had to smell ammonia, sometimes it's rubbing alcohol, sometimes they just say "Angela, wake up!!" repeatedly. Huge drag. How am I supposed to get any sleep around here?

But the nurse in charge used this as a teaching experience for her assistant: "And now you've seen a classic vasovagal response!"

'Roid Rage

Well, ok, no rage, but today I got a steroid shot in my knee. Now, I'm a well-known wimp when it comes to medical stuff. I faint when people even talk about medical procedures. Any time I Google-image-search a medical condition, I regret it.
Needles, though, are fine. Totally fine. It was funny to me that during the shot, which took a long time to administer, I was all cool. But then they just wouldn't stop TALKING about stuff and I had to lie down. Ha, ha.
The injection included a topical anesthetic, which has now kicked in. That, combined with the Tramadol and ibuprofen I've been making sure not to forget, helps a lot. Now I just hope I can survive physical therapy! Go me, I can do it!

Desire to write something...

But no knitting content. I'm not sure whether I should transition this blog or start a new one; already I have left in my wake a trail of discarded blogs. Abandoning projects half-way through is my primary hobby, after all.

I have been thinking lately about pain and pain meds because I am living that right now. When you have surgery they send you home with a prescription for narcotics and tell you to "stay on top of the pain," but here's my question: at what point do you move beyond "staying on top of it" and into "I am addicted to pain pills" territory? Sometimes when I hurt I'll take a Tramadol and then wonder if I'm not getting hooked on not being in excruciating pain. It's an easy thing to get hooked on, certainly. At this point my "habit" isn't interfering with my life or work or anything so I don't think it's cause for alarm, but how will I know? Ideally the pain will diminish and then stop, but I have no guarantee that will happen. I'm not worried about it, just wondering.

I'm also wondering, somewhat less hypothetically, if I ever will get better and be able to just do life normal again and walk a lot and take the stairs and go back to yoga and stuff. I think I would benefit from a lot more exercise, but see above in re: pain.

I'm such a whiner.