Lit some baby powder incense and doubling up on NaNo today since I had a lot to do yesterday and was so tired that I skipped yesterday’s NaNo chapter. Did over 1,600 words tonight.

It’s been a peaceful night but yesterday morning I had to listen to that fucking punk who loves to gun his motorcycle. Still can’t tell where they are but I’m pretty sure they’re just over the wall.

Slept okay and a lot longer since I didn’t sleep as much the night before. Can’t remember much in the way of dreams but what little I barely remember seems to have been pretty neutral as opposed to the usual negative dreams I have.

Still tired, though. The pill cuts? Could be but I’m loving how much calmer I’ve been feeling. Yeah, since yesterday, virtually all traces of anxiety have diminished. If by some miracle it doesn’t return, then it was a dose issue. But when it does I probably won’t quit. If it was the meds themselves, then I’d have been anxious from day one. Not a few months later.

Couldn’t get into Numb3rs so I’m watching Nightmare Next Door instead. It’s just another crime doc. Really wish there were more American shows instead of mostly reality shows, documentaries, and foreign stuff.

Sometimes I find myself thinking of Marie. But do I actually miss her? Not really. She was just too moody for me. This doesn’t mean I don’t care about her, though, and hope she’s finally found her way in life albeit plenty late enough. At her age, I just don’t know, though. Did the bad things that happened to her as a kid permanently break her? Was she born the way she is? Both? I just don’t know. All I know is that I couldn’t take the lovey-dovey mood one minute, then the paranoid, delusional accusations the next.

I guess I’m a hypocrite because even though I just got done swearing I would never diet again since I can never lose more than a few pounds that come right back with my dead metabolism and shitty genetics, I really do gotta try to get down at least 10 lbs. That ain’t much but it definitely makes a huge difference down here at my height. I feel compelled to do it for health issues. It would lower my LDL score and hopefully lower my risk of diabetes as well since it runs in my family. I don’t care about my appearance and how I look to others, though. A person in the supermarket could think I was hideous while a person in the parking lot could think I was average and another thought I was above-average for all I care. All that matters is my comfort and health.

In trying to get the pigs to be a little braver, so when they scream for food and we walk over to the cage with veggies, if they run and hide they don’t get served. They now have to stand there and be served out in the open.

I know I should be more understanding of the fact that they’re wired the way they are but really, the scaredy crap gets old. I really do get tired of having animals that react as if I’m abusive and that are antisocial and prefer to be left alone. If it weren’t for Fuzzy being as affectionate as he is, I just may regret getting these guys. My special little Fuzz bud helps make up for the others’ cowardice.

With Woody, I don’t think it’s so much that he’s scared but would simply prefer not to bother with me. He doesn’t like to be picked up or petted. The pigs will eventually let me hold them without squirming to get away but not without a fight first. Like I said, wired that way or not, it really does get old. This is part of why I might consider a dog when he retires. I want a pet that won’t run when I approach it or fight me when I go to handle it. It’s just that I had always heard they were a lot of work and expensive. That’s not what my buddy says about her dog, though. Other than taking them for walks which I wouldn’t mind because I like to walk anyway, how much work could possibly be involved with a dog as opposed to a guinea pig who is constantly making a mess? I don’t think the cat was even this much work. Tempted to try regular bedding, which we still have, in the pigs’ cage and see how it holds up. It’s just that the hay is so damn hard to shake out of the liners, along with shedded fur. I should be able to scoop it out easily enough with the dustpan. These rats do well with liners so we’d still save a little money in the end and the fleece liners could be used in the pen.

Just got up and served everybody some blueberries and lettuce. The pigs not only let me serve them in the open but ate there as well.

Even Woody’s been a little more curious. He’ll never be like Fuzzy but he almost climbed out onto my shoulder from the upper level of the cage. Don’t know why, but rats like being up high, so they spend most of the time at the top of the cage. They’ll run downstairs to be let out but Woody’s gotten his outside privileges revoked for a while for refusing to go home when ordered to yesterday. I don’t even have to tell Fuzzy, though. He comes and goes and when I want him to stay in for a while, I can simply close his door. But not if Woody’s out. I’ll have to lock him upstairs next time I let Fuzzy run around.

Tom was pissed at himself when he returned from Sam’s yesterday morning and realized he left the bacon that was on sale in the cart.

I was pissed at my own self when I thought of all the doctor’s appointments I’ve had, mostly thanks to the fucking anxiety, since being in this house. It’s ridiculous. Just fucking ridiculous. Most people my age simply don’t go to doctors this much, so from now on, no matter how I feel, I’m determined to stick to the basics. PCP twice a year, ENT once a year, dentist twice a year, eye exam once a year. I’ll pass on the mammogram, pelvic exam and that other gross exam older people are supposed to have. So 6 a year.

As I asked her to, Aly found my my-diary entry easily enough as it had the same title as what I emailed her. Figured she’d find it. Every now and then I’ll post the same content publicly if there’s nothing too personal in it. She gets to read more of the health stuff and things that are more personal and weird.