White chip time..

This is super frustrating for me. I have had an incredibly draining week. And as such , I broke my 90 in 90 commitment at some point this week.

WordPress doesn’t exactly keep the same time as real time in my little slice of the east coast but even with that and the last week being kind of a blur due to sleep deprivation, marital and medical stress, highs and lows in family and friendships, I still calculate that I slipped in my commitment to post everyday.

So asking forgiveness, this is my white chip post.

Thank you for every read, like, comment and follow thus far and I will keep blogging till I meet my goal and hopefully far beyond that.

As mentioned, I am drained and discouraged. Everything hurts. Everything is difficult. Much more so than usual. This is the next to bedbound, need my husband’s help to get out of bed for bathroom or medication trips, doubled over my walker and sobbing, whimpering with each step kind of day. It sucks!

I hate feeling like this. I have a computer literally right at my bedside and I am still having to take breaks to lay down as I make this post.

Between volunteering at Son’s VBS, family being in from out of town, Husband STILL being sick with we’re not sure what I woke up in indescribable pain today. Actually, the pain hit indescribable yesterday and somehow managed to escalate from there.

I knew I had been doing too much, but there were commitments. And there is literally nobody else sometimes. I am the only mom my son has. I am the only wife my husband has. I feel a little bit desperate when we are both doing poorly. How are we going to make it?

When things suck like this I feel like, something has to change, something has to give, but what?

I need better pain relief, but I cannot take opiate painkillers as prescribed. I will abuse them. So what am I supposed to do?

I am so discouraged right now! I am actually crying as I write this and just had to take a break to explain to emotionally less than intelligent Husband why I’m crying.

me: Because I’m in pain, frustrated and overwhelmed. I thought I explained this earlier.

him: Yeah, but now you’re typing!

me: So there’s some kind of law of physics that prevents crying and typing all of a sudden?

him: Well, yeah, kinda. I mean, if you’re typing your expressing yourself, getting it out and stuff.. so why are you crying too?

me:…

It took me a few minutes, then finally..

me: Haven’t you ever seen someone cry while they sang an emotional solo?

him: well.. yeah.

me: Think about it.

It figures that he instantly gets it when put in a musical frame of reference, as he’s a musician. Speaking of which, as his studio and my writing area are all housed in the same 11’14 bedroom, I’m thinking I may invest in some earplugs for myself. He works with headphones when he’s feeling especially considerate of me, but sometimes, he needs to hear how a certain piece sounds through the speakers as opposed to the headphones, and because it’s my problem not his that sometimes hearing the same piece over and over again is a hindrance to MY expressive art maybe I can show a little consideration for him and invest in some earplugs so I can have quiet to write and he can have peace to make all of the millions of little unnoticable (to non-musical me at least) tweaks to his levels and mixes and vocals or whatever the hell he does.

It might sound like I have no appreciation or respect for my life partner’s musical gift. It really isn’t that, but just as I discovered early on that my man is not going to delight in the idea of reading the latest words I’ve put on paper, I don’t have the depth of appreciation for all the work that goes in to the behind the scenes of creating a piece of music. We have learned, though, to respect each other’s outlet from afar and we each try and give the other person space to do their thing.

Sometimes really awful days like this fill me with inspiration to get a better quality of life, come hell or high water, however long it takes, no matter if it means surgery or a billion invasive appointments or a federal pardon. But then the most acute part passes or I hit a wall somewhere and I don’t continue.

I have to do something though. Research, make a plan and choose to make things better. Because with things like this, no conscious choice to make things better is an unconscious choice to make things worse.

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