Hanging out with my Sasquatch

Can't think of a word to encompass how overwhelming my pain is today.  Basically, I need to be floating, touching nothing with even the tiniest inch of skin, and - since my levitation skills are nil - that's not going so great.  I'm loaded up with drugs, in the hope that I'll just drift off for a little while, laughing at the idea that chronic pain patients use meds to get high... I'm using mine to keep me from skinning myself or following through on jumping out the window, just to feel something other than how bad this hurts.  My skin is the wrong size, I can literally feel my blood pumping, as if it's bruising me just by rushing through my veins.  I hate that there isn't a word big enough to cover how much it hurts; to compare it to 'hurting' at all seems like telling you a flood is the same thing as a teardrop - hurting is the only thing I'm doing at this point: it's who I am.  Existing, just breathing my way through it.  And all because of the stupid steroids, which, thanks for saving my life and all, but maybe next time you could do it in a way that makes me want to survive?  How is it that a drug that helps people with some kinds of pain somehow cause my nerve endings to act as if they need to interpret every input at DANGER: EXPLOSION levels.  I hate how quickly I can go from 'a little bit sick' to 'every part of your body is consumed by pain and fire', and how there's not a damn thing to do about it except to wait for it to pass.  Gonna get back to that, the waiting.  Here's some other people, making me feel more human, since they're pissed off at their pain, too.

"I have no patience these days with the Nietzschean cliché, ‘That which does not kill us makes us stronger.’ I’ve found that the deepest pain holds no meaning. It is not purifying. It is not ennobling. It does not make you a better human being. It just is. All the worst pain does is reduce us to our most primal animal. We want it to stop. We want to survive. It short-circuits any sense of self, diminishes us to a bundle of biological reflexes." Dana Jennings, Pain Beyond Words

“Pain is the Sasquatch of science, never witnessed, only endlessly speculated on.” Marni Jackson, Pain: the 5th vital sign.
 

"When I get caught up in the web of feeling, tied up til I’m completely ensnared in those slender threads of pain—–that’s when I realize that I’m out of any human reach——-out of the reach of rescue, but not out of harms way. You can’t kiss stuff like this and make it better—–sure, you could kiss it but what difference would that make?  Kiss it and make it the same.  Come get me and make me okay. I’ll wait here while we figure out why I’m fated to take it on any and all of my chins, What am I missing that makes me unlike what they call solid citizens?  What caused me to be a liquid citizen like myself, with the talent to find the winning part of losing, the talent to take that searing feeling of failure and writing it out til it doesn’t win…….?"   Carrie Fisher

It's just water...

Thanks for the congratulations, everybody: it does feel good to hit a goal, that's for sure.  Unfortunately, between a very pokey rheumatologist appointment this morning and the steroid related fibro-flare I knew was coming (Stupid steroids), I feel a bit like a wet Mogwai right now:

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Definitely untouchable, and barely able to shift in one direction or the other, and very, very glad I finished my words yesterday, so that pain brain is not keeping me from meeting the quota.  Gonna rest up for today, just make it through.  (Also, maybe I'll watch Gremlins, one of the least Christmas-y Christmas movies I love to watch.) 

Guess what?

I made it!  Two days, and some hundreds of word over, and I've got 9/10ths of a completed novel that may actually, at some point in the future, make sense.  :)  Just kidding: I mostly like it, and just need to write a little bit more to ... end it., but aside from that, and some major editing, I hit my goal.  So, party time, peoples! 

Shuffling along,

"There are too many ideas and things and people. Too many directions to go. I was starting to believe the reason it matters to care passionately about something, is that it whittles the world down to a more manageable size." “Adaptation”

Guess it's better to have too MUCH to think about, too MANY worries, than too few, but it still feels overwhelming sometimes.  Like, every single moment, sometimes.  Moving on.   

Just keep swimming

“When you’re at that point, when you feel it’s all pointless… It’s not. The trick is to just keep doing it, that’s how you succeed in the end. It’s the secret to life, do anything often enough, and for long enough, and you get good at it. So keep on. Keep writing. Keep painting. Keep singing. Keep dancing. Keep fighting. Keep. On.” — via: I wrote this for you

Keeping my head above water here, but just barely.  So, more wisdom from various parts.  so close to my NaNo goal (43943), but running on fumes at this point - between the rash and the meds and just getting through the day, I'm lucky my brain is even semi-functioning, so I'll take what I can get.  I can manage 6500 (ish) words in the next four days, right?  (Right.  I think. Let's just keep going.)  

By this logic, I am a certified genius

“The sign of intelligence is that you are constantly wondering. Idiots are always dead sure about every damn thing they are doing in their life.”   - Vasudev

A reminder, as I crawl my way to 40,000, with 6 days to go

“In psychological terms, it seems that drive is more important than talent in producing creative work. The psychologist Dean Simonton has argued, for example, that the composers who produced the greatest music were simply the ones who wrote the most. Mozart and Beethoven composed all the time, whether walking down a street or attending a dinner party.” 

                         ~ The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer’s Block, and the Creative Brain,  Dr. Alice Flaherty

Just because

I love me some Fallon singing.  And mash-ups.  And Rashida Jones. 

Sadly? Still not our worst Thanksgiving story

Had to head to the ER this morning, after what was a small-ish rash yesterday tried to eat my whole upper body over night.  By the time Mom got up this morning, it basically looked like I was wearing an angry red turtleneck, with weird splotches and bumps.  Who knows?  They diagnosis was "allergic reaction - to something," but since I haven't tried anything new (medicines, lotions, foods) in the past couple of days, I have no idea what that might be.  After some steroids (my third dose in a month: yippee, all that weight I lost over the summer?  Welcome back!) and Benadryl (which did nothing on its own, yesterday, but made a liar out of me with the doctor today),  and a couple of hours, we were free to leave and continue with our feast. 

Except.... when I mix Benadryl with my meds?  Not so much for the feasting, and a whole lot of giggles at my expense.  Stupid gigglers.  The worst part is that the heating pad irritates the hives, so I have to double up on my pain meds to compensate.  It's all just ridiculous.  On the plus side, maybe I'll be able to close my eyes for a little while now. 

Happy Pie Day!

Even though we'll be smaller in numbers this year, that's no reason to make less pies, is it?  (She says, knowing that she'll be eating pie for breakfast all next week.) 

Three things

Three things that I've noticed since I've been participating in NaNoWriMo -

1) It is really cutting into my reading time, all this writing.  It's hard to walk around with my characters in my head and other people's characters in my head at the same time: I was reading a book where a character was killed and she bared only a slight resemblance to my main character, but I started bawling anyways.  I'm not saying that my mood didn't factor into that, of course it did, but still ~ but between that and the amount of TIME I spend writing, it's making it hard to read all the time, which I don't like...

2) I am really an ace procrastinator.  I can put things off with aplomb, people.  (Because once I start writing, generally?  I can knock out a scene no problem.  But getting to the actual writing point? Requires a timer, a closed door, zero distractions (including Facebook, Pinterest and other soul suckers), and a tuned in brain.  Arranging for all of those things to meet at one time, for a steady period of time - quite challenging.)

3) But, I'm 100 words shy of 37,000 words people (which, my word program counts as about 80 pages, but whatever), and ... the book is nowhere near finished, the plot is still kind of murky, and yet: I totally love it.  It's pissing me off a little, since it didn't go in quite the direction I thought it was going and I've had to do some readjusting because of that, (not to mention I have no idea how to end the stupid thing) but, mostly?  I kinda like it, this thing I am creating.  Which is huge for me, because lately, I've been feeling like everything I am doing is ABSOLUTELY IN EVERY POSSIBLE WAY ENTIRELY WRONG. No matter where I step, I manage to stumble, or land on some one's toes or a pile of dog poo or something.  People are dying, fighting, crying, mourning, faking it, trying, and I'm just stumbling in and out of the way.
   I know I say it every time, but I wish I didn't stop writing, that I wouldn't let myself stop writing, even when things are hard because I forget that it is something I like, and am good at, and am capable of.  With all the shit that's going on around here, and all of the things I'm not capable of?  It's nice to reminded that there are somethings I can still do.

Today's tidbits of wisdom

Might just give you an idea how well I am dealing with all the family drama around here, and the fact that a person who's supposed to be a grown-up thinks it's OK to be selfish, OK to ignore the consequences of his actions, and lives behind a great wall of denial. 

First up, some advice that I'm finding so difficult to put into practice, but that's not keeping me from trying, from Danielle La Porte,

"Want to improve your communication skills?
Then communicate.
Our most common communication blunder is not that we’re insensitive, or forceful, or misdirected. It’s that we fail to communicate at all. 

We swallow. We hedge. We delay. We punish with silence. We freeze with fear. We open our mind to assumptions but keep our mouths shut. We lock down. We just don’t say anything.

Most often, even weak or wobbly communication is far better than shutting down completely. Sincerity and courage go a lot further than “polished” communication skills any day.

Have the conversation. Say how you feel. Ask the question. Bring it up. Stumble with good intentions. Fly with an open heart. Communicate.”

 When you grew up in a house like mine, where your opinion was neither asked for nor appreciated by certain people, and where intimidation is still a daily occurrence, that is a lot easier said than done.  However, trying to turn myself into an actual adult, who takes responsibility for her own actions and expects others to do the same, I've realized that I can't do it by keeping my mouth shut (however much that is my comfort zone).  I'm not too pleased with this realization, people, but I'm doing my best to work through my discomfort and other people's pissy attitudes. 


 Which brings us to some vital truth from Melissa McEwan, of Shakesville: 

No one who has ever said "life is too short" to me has ever meant, "What can I do to make amends for having hurt you and restore trust between us as quickly as possible?"

They have always and only ever meant, "Your boundaries are stupid, and I am super impatient with your attempts to make me respect them, so here is some emotional manipulation to try to coerce you into letting me continue to treat you like shit without consequences."

What I'm saying is: I really hate the expression "life is too short."”

Next, a lesson from John Green:

“The good times and the bad times both will pass. It will pass. It will get easier. But the fact that it will get easier does not mean that it doesn’t hurt now. And when people try to minimize your pain they are doing you a disservice. And when you try to minimize your own pain you’re doing yourself a disservice. Don’t do that. The truth is that it hurts because it’s real. It hurts because it mattered. And that’s an important thing to acknowledge to yourself. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t end, that it won’t get better. Because it will.” 

Gonna work on not doing myself any more disservices, and I hope you do the same.  See you tomorrow, peoples.  

Prepare yourself for a week full of quotes

because my thinking box is on the fritz, and I'm at 30,000 (+!) words in my novel, and I'm not giving up on it no matter what.  even though my brain is giving up on me. 

So I've got a bunch of stuff I've been collecting from random places lately, that I keep wanting to post, and now's the perfect time for that.

To start us off, probably the best thing I've read all year, from the genius that is  Neil de Grasse Tyson:

“The problem, often not discovered until late in life, is that when you look for things in life like love, meaning, motivation, it implies they are sitting behind a tree or under a rock. The most successful people in life recognize, that in life they create their own love, they manufacture their own meaning, they generate their own motivation.For me, I am driven by two main philosophies, know more today about the world than I knew yesterday. And lessen the suffering of others. You'd be surprised how far that gets you.”

I could use some smiles, how bout you

Source: theclicker.today.com via Pam on Pinterest

Yes, totally amazing: now give me my meds and shut the hell up.

What did I say I was going to talk about tonight? 

How about strep throat?  Was that it?  No: I didn't think so, and yet, there it is. 

I spent the whole week hoping that my throat was just raw because the music was So. Loud. at the wedding on Sunday (I am the old person you all hate - Why does the music have to be that LOUD???) so to talk to anybody, you were basically yelling.  All night long.  I just figured I'd strained my voice a little.

And that probably was some of it, but then when I went in for my shots on Wednesday and some man in the doctor's office coughed directly on me.  Like, right on my face.  And didn't even give me the courtesy of an "oops," let alone an "I'm sorry, I just gave you the plague, would you like a Kleenex?"

So when my throat was about a million times worse this morning, I gave in and called my primary care, who was, you guessed it! Out of the office for the day, but her on-call covering doc could see me at three, would that be okay?  Sure.  Whatever.  Fine.

They called three times between 10:00 this morning and noon to rearrange the appointment times, and I was ready to be like "Never mind: miraculously healed! Just stop calling and making me TALK - did I mention my throat hurts?!", but then they did stop calling, so I decided to suck it up and go.

Now, the only new symptom has been my throat - nothing else, no coughing or wheezing or sneezing or anything, so I just assumed the covering doc would look at the red rawness, stick one of those sticks down my throat, and write me a prescription for the strep throat antibiotic I obviously need.

Isn't it hilarious how I'm still optimistic (and stupid) after all these years of dealing with doctors?

No it was: Let's talk about why you're in the wheelchair (because it might somehow be relevant?), and What do you mean it hurts when I press on your neck and lymph nodes (they hurt all by themselves, lady: don't touch!) and Are you sure you had bronchitis a few weeks ago? (Well, maybe I had a brontosaurus a few weeks ago, but I'm pretty sure it was bronchitis.)  Literally, let's just retake your whole history, for a strep test.  And then?  Still not give you any antibiotics.

No, after hearing that I'd had bronchitis a couple of weeks ago, and three or four sinus infections this year, the on-call doc decided that I might just have another sinus infection, and gave me Flonase.  Which... doesn't treat sinus infections.  (Or, at the very least, doesn't treat MY sinus infections.)  Told me to gargle with salt water (which I've been doing, and I hate, and blech).  Or it could be allergies, although allergy season is mostly over....and I'm on no less than three allergy meds. Whatever.  Definitely helpful, thanks!

 And then she preceded to talk for fifteen minutes about how interesting POTS is and how she's never seen anybody with that, and isn't it amazing how many ways the body has to adapt to things?

Um... no? 

My body is MALadaptive, lady.  It is adapting poorly, not "amazingly."  And I don't care if you see patients like me every single day, or once every 3000 years, could you just stop chattering on and on and actually treat what I'm here for, so I can go home and be sick in my own damn bed?

It was frustrating, to say the least, and the thing that makes it worse is that if I had called yesterday, instead of waiting to see if it'd go away (like a dope), I could've called Zack's office, and the nurse there would've just sent my antibiotic rx right through... I kind of having a standing order.  But they're out of the office today, so I figured the primary care was my next best shot.

Turns out my next best shot would've been attending medical school myself, so I could write out the damn prescription and stick my own little swab down my throat.  Next time. 

  

Halfway through November

and I hit 25,000+ words.  I'm going to talk about it tomorrow, I hope but I'm still trying to recuperate from various things here, and focus on not whining a lot, like I kind of want to.  (Shots.  Which were fine, but now are acting like I was bitten by some exotic animal all of the sudden. Anyways.)  So, instead of listening to me whine, may I suggest, you take yourself of to a television set and settle in for some Parks & Recs awesomeness tonight?  Special Guest star, Leslie Knope's #1 crush, Joe Biden.  :)  It should be spectacular. 

Colbert, On Point, As Usual

Gif via Oh Whiskers.tumblr.com

Words, words everywhere

but none to spare for here.

Seriously beat tonight, guys.  Managed to get 5000 (! I'm up to 20,812!) words written for NaNo, but between recuperating from the wedding (which I have stories! and pictures!) and having our family over, and still being sick, not to mention the stupid additional side effects from my new drug, I'm just plum worn out.  So I'll try to remember to write here first tomorrow, so it'll be interesting and stuff. Night!

Fail

My latest drug trial was a big huge fail after one day on it, I had a killer migraine.  The second day, the migraine was better, but I still had a headache and now I had that pins and needles feeling in my arms and legs as if I'd fallen asleep on all four of my limbs at the same time.  But I didn't call Zach until the third day, as pre-arranged, because, if you've started enough drugs, you know sometimes, there's a hump you have to get over.  With the Lyrica, it was like living in Wonderland for the first few weeks.  Some of the other drugs have made me nauseous, others made me super tired (on top of my already exhausted state), one made my sense of taste disappear for a week, a couple of others have done really strange things: I'm almost never surprised.

Except, when I called Zack, he was surprised that I'd kept taking it.  "Why didn't you call me sooner - you don't have to put up with that?"  Um... obviously I do, what world is he living in?  "But it's good that you did, because that tells us something relevant"  To Zack, everything is relevant, even if he can't figure out how yet.  "Mmhmm."

So he called me back after consulting with a neurologist and this is what they come up with: the migraine and pins and needles (some sort of thesia) as a result of that specific drug show that my migraines in and of themselves could be playing a larger role in my whole pain syndrome issue than we've been assuming.  So, new treatment plan: botox for the migraines.  So he says to me, over the phone at like 5:30 on Friday afternoon.

Um, what?  You want me to get Botox for my migraines, which suck, granted, but ... we've figured have been pretty much under control, right?  Wrong.  "Maybe the tension in your neck and your jaw and your nausea are more migraine centered than we've been thinking, and this would help with that." Hmm... that's actually kind of sensible.

"At the very least, it will help with the migraines, give you fewer of those, and that'll be helpful."

Now, I'm starting to get behind this plan.

I have to do a little bit more research first - since a)needles in my b)face sounds c)horrible to me - but I could get behind this, even though I'm pretty sure it'd do nothing for most of my pain.  The fact is my headaches have been pretty deadly lately, so I'll take all the help I can get with them.  But this is just another example of how what you think you're dealing with when it comes to chronic illness is NO WHERE NEAR where you wind up.   

Heading to a big family shindig

tonight.  Doing my best to coast along on my meds as best I can.  Not working all that well, as having company is a bit of an additional (but awesome) strain.  I am so enjoying having heartfelt people in the house.  Not overly happy, not upset, just genuine people.  People I love and who love me, and who don't totally get it (seriously, Aunt Pam: stop with the patting!), but who try really hard and are on vacation and will stay up all night playing games and talking about whatever we feel like - heavy things and nothing things, and everything in between - and just breathing.  Of course, my dad is still here, and he's like this heaviness over everything, but I'm doing my best to ignore that as well.  I can tell it's a tad bit uncomfortable for them, but I'm not going to be able to just push everything aside and pretend all is fine and dandy, and I told them that.  So, we're grown ups, we're not all getting along, we can be civil, and we're working from there.  In the meantime, aside from that, and the fact that I feel like I'm being given electro-shock therapy (stupid new meds) AND being trampled by horses (just my regular fibro feelings), I'm having a perfectly lovely, agreeable visit.  They've gone off on a Fenway tour, which gives me a chance to get some breathing time in, and I'm giving myself a two day pass on the NaNo, which means a lot of catch-up come Tuesday, but less pressure today tomorrow (since I know my brain is going to be worth nothing after all the drugs I'm going to need to make it through this wedding tonight).  So, talk to you tomorrow, ladies and gents, hope your weekend is going smoothly too.  :) 

Trying hard

to keep this from becoming a daily NaNo record, but, you guys, I hit 15,000 words today, and that?  Rocks.  Because I did that in spite of the god damn bronchitis, and antibiotics x3, and my mom being sick as well, and two sleepovers, trying to get organized for company and trying to get ready for a big family wedding tomorrow.  Sure, some things fell by the wayside, but they'll be there when I get around to them (eventually). 

In the meantime, I'm going to give myself a big high five and take a deep breath, then put on my gorram bra because that company I mentioned before should be here in the next few minutes.  Bras are stupid. 

We won't talk about what happens to my plans

My words are running at a loss today, sorry.  Major league brain fog.  Every one of the 924 words I wrote for NaNo were hard fought, and I can't guarantee they were worth much this morning, but they're written.  I'm at about 12,300, which is a tad behind, but I'm going to power through, come next week.  (Right?)  At least that's the plan. 

Got a lot accomplished today

but I'm exhausted now. (Shocker!)  Today was the kind of day when I spent so long making lunch that I was too tired to eat it by the time it was ready.  So, I ate it for dinner.  Eventually.  And it wasn't any special, elaborate lunch either - just roasted vegetables - but between the chopping and peeling (not to mention getting everything else off the only area I can use can reach for chopping and peeling), I nearly had to lay down on the floor in the kitchen once I got them in the oven.   Plus?  Squash skin are like impossible to slice into - I felt like I needed a hatchet.  Or a hammer.

 It was obviously a low energy day, and a high energy activity.  (Probably not for other people, but definitely for me.) 

Aside from that, I did some cleaning in my room, got the floor in the library picked up since we'll be having company this weekend as a cousin is getting married on Sunday, and wrote more than 2000 words for NaNo today. 

So, if I could nap, it would definitely be time for that.  Instead, I'm going to watch Jeopardy! and hope that there are some good categories.  Night all!

Gobama!

(and deep breath out) 

Definitely not anxious

... but have the election results been posted yet? 

Seriously avoiding most media at this point (have checked the Twitter a few times), because I just can't handle it.  Either we're going Forward or we're going back to the (18)40's.  And, at this point, I can't do anything about it at all.  So, back to NaNo and boosting my word count (up near 8000 words, which is a little shy of where I should be, but still: rocks and kicks ass, so I don't care).  See you on the flip side, readers.   

As if I wasn't doing enough

I started a new med last night.  For pain (of course).  So far, all I'm feeling is that my pain is turned up a notch, but I'm hoping that that's a result of an overextended weekend, as opposed to a medicine that's supposed to help me.  Of course, this would not be the first (second, third, or hundredth) time that instead of making things better a new med decided to make things worse, so I'm also keeping an open mind.  Fingers crossed, mind open, and Zack on speed-dial.  That's the way I'm making it through this Monday, folks. 

One of these days they'll make it past midnight

Well, after all that build up, Lil Girl conked out on me just past 11:00, which, to be fair is two hours past her normal bed time.  She was totally revved until about 10:45, when we put in our third Disney movie (one thing about kids movies, is that they're generally shorter than regular movies).  She was nearly buzzing "Look how good I'm doing: I'm going to stay up till 1:00, for sure!"  She picked the movie, laid back down on the couch while I skipped over all the previews and just as Belle launched into "As long as there's Christmas"... I look over and she's snoring. 

Oh well.  I tucked her in and headed back to my bed, where I read through the night and cursed the fact that I've got Christmas songs stuck in my head already, and it's only the fourth of November. 

(And if you watch till about the three minute mark, so will you: sorry!) 

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Getting Ready

for Lil Girl to come over for a sleepover.  Very excited: I have no doubt that she'll make it past her brother's midnight mark from last weekend's Fright Fest - we didn't even make it through one scary movie: the kid wanted to watch The Hunger Games, then he zonked out on me five minutes into The Woman in Black, which - just: no.  I was too sad to watch a movie where kids kept dying.  Lil Girl is another story: I told her we could stay up "all night long", so I'm anticipating a looong night.  It'll be a nice change to have company during the wee hours, though.  (Company and Disney movies... all I need now is to make some brownies.)

Wrote my three pages for today (am a little off target, but so please with what I've written that I don't care about the numbers yet: ask me again on the 28th), getting the blog posted, trying to go into the sleepover with (what I have that passes for) energy & enthusiasim.  I miss her so much, and I'm wicked excited... but I also know somewhere around 9 o'clock, she's going to be wearing on my nerves and we're both going to need a nap.  :)  That's the fun of six year olds: all the energy of a three-year-old, with none of the naps.

See you in the morning ~ hope your Saturday night is as exciting as mine.  (I'm going to think of a name to call you all, but I'm coming up blank:  'the five of you', how's that sound?)

NaNoWriMo

so far, my novel is skewing towards the Young Adult side of the spectrum, which is leaving me with one major problem: Not only am I no longer a Young Adult (at least, not as far as publishing standards go), when I was, I didn't do anything that would be considered 'typical'.  I have no idea what "teenagers" did: I know I spent most of my time sleeping and visiting doctors offices.  Trudging my way through home tutoring and pretending that missing out on social events wasn't a huge deal. (Jr Prom vs. Star Wars marathon with your mom?  As much as I appreciated the effort, I probably still would have preferred the prom.) Busting my butt so I could graduate on time, even though nobody else thought I should even care about that.  Trying to get my family to realize that I was neither a)on drugs, b)pregnant, c)faking it or d) being overly dramatic. 

And so, somehow, I find myself writing (and researching) about a chronically ill teenager - one with more of a social life than I ever had (otherwise the book would be both boring "Today she slept for 18 hours" and too short to meet the 50,000 words), but with some of my experiences and emotions peppered in.  And I'm loving it. 

Even though I had 1330 words yesterday and today I only have 950.  But they're a good 950, and that's more important, right? 

Here we are in November again,

that time of year when your Google Reader explodes as all the lax bloggers (like me!) attempt to come up with blog fodder for their daily NaBloPoMo attempts.  I haven't decided yet whether or not I'm going to try for that, I just know that I don't want to miss out on my 6th year because I was so stuck in a funk I couldn't even try.  So, I figure I'll try.  Who knows?

The funk, though, man.  It's like Pigpen level, people.  Between the bronchitis and my complete inability to stand people, I have been a joy to be around, I assure you.  I got a ton of things accomplished this morning, however: rebooked a bunch of appointments I missed out on because of the germs that were trying to take over my body, labelled two hundred pictures, bought a couple more Christmas presents (leaving me with like, four people left, which is awesome, and necessary because we all know I will get sick 17 times between now and then, and that severely cuts into your shopping time). 

Started writing a novel. 

I'm sorry? What was that? 

Yeah: I signed up for NaNoWriMo, because I am, apparently, an idiot. No, in truth it's because there are apparently no limits to my ability to procrastinate doing things I really don't want to do, because instead of looking for housing again this morning (because it is so gorram frustrating and near to impossible), I signed myself up to write 50,000 words in the next thirty days.  I'm kind of a dope.  Not that I can't write 50,000 words in thirty days, it's the "having them all go together logically" part that gets me.  I've written a couple of (really bad, no, honestly terrible) novels already, but this will be my first time pressured one, so it'll be interesting to see how it comes out.  So far I have about 1000 words of description on three of the main characters.  I'm surprised I didn't start writing about their shoe sizes, to be honest... Now I've just got to get them to do something interesting.  

So I hope to write here, I hope to write there; I hope to be there more for the people who need me, and figure out how to better ask for the things I need; I hope to find some miraculous new way of affording (not just financially, but physically) my own place; I hope to figure out how to stop being so angry and sad all the time; I hope to dig my way out of this funk and through to the other side, however I can.  November, you've got a lot riding on you, so let's kick ass.

Good luck to all of my fabulous readers ~ may whatever you hope to do in November work out for all of you.  Fingers crossed.