For the longest time, I couldn’t wait till Bill died. But now I hear more about him than I did when the bastard was alive.

Went on a duck walk, not wanting to overdo it with the dizzies. It was there on a bench that I left my dream notebook. Will anyone read it if it doesn’t get drenched by sprinklers? I’ll never know. It’ll be interesting to see if I get any local views on Tumblr, though. That’s the only link I enclosed since there’s no identifying info on me there.

I just felt safer, knowing how shitty my luck can be and how I sometimes have to pay for the dumbest things while others get away with murder if it appeared to be left or dropped accidentally as opposed to delivered to someone. I was originally going to slip it in front of one of the houses here. Thought of leaving it in a bathroom in a store or medical building, but some dumb illiterate sp*c janitor would probably just toss it. No guarantees it’d get picked up and read from the lake bench, but at least I’m not “forcing” it on anyone like I was supposed to have done in Arizona. Yeah, I really “forced” them to read my mail at gunpoint, right?

Later…

Even though it may not be nearly as scary as when my heart would race, I’m beginning to fear that I’m going to suffer every day for the rest of my life, and it’s starting to really drag me down into a bit of a funk. This is on top of what we’re now pretty sure is PMS since my boobs are noticeably sorer and I’m moodier. But some of that moodiness is due to how shitty I feel. It’d depress anyone.

I miss the old me. I’d take back poverty over this shit any day. Other than occasional restlessness and upset stomach, that poverty didn’t touch me. I’ve had ear problems for 12 years now, but it’s been way more persistent since around May, plus I’m now having more days than not where I’m depleted of energy and I’m lightheaded. I have to push myself to work out, I have to push myself to clean, and I can’t even begin to push myself to finish my stories.

What’s with all the heartburn lately, too? I looked up an OTC remedy called Prevacid, but as soon as I saw the rare but severe side effect listed of a racy/irregular heart and anxiety, I said no way. Rare or not, I have just as much chance, if not more with my shit luck, of having that as anyone else does.

Anyway, I slept horribly due to waking up a lot and am tired from that as well as PMS and the perimenopause, too. What’s frustrating is not knowing for sure what’s causing what and what to do about it. I think my fatigue and dizziness are the perimenopause and I think my ear is nerve damage, but I just don’t know for sure.

The only thing that shoots down the damaged nerve theory is the fact that it comes and goes. And why would it take 9 years after surgery to become an issue?

Then my mind wanders to other questions… is there really a God up there that might’ve used my ear as a weapon of torture against me? If so, for what? Who did I torture for over a decade to deserve this “punishment?” Oiling it regularly used to help, but not anymore.

If all I had was an achy ear, that’d be one thing. Ibuprofen helps dull the pain. But there’s no remedy for my fatigue and dizziness. No matter what foods or vitamin supplements I try, nothing seems to help.

Fatigue, dizziness, heartburn, earaches… it never ends. I have a few scattered good days in the mix, but not nearly enough. I’ve got some problem or another more often than not.

And now the car is leaking water somewhere, too. Tom ordered some Stop Leak, and I worry about that becoming a big deal and expense. Thanks to me and all my fucking appointments, Tom doesn’t have an unlimited amount of time off.

I just worry that my upcoming PCP, ear and sleep appointments will be a waste of time and money while the dentist visit will just unearth more cavities. As Tom pointed out, my fear of medicine doesn’t help. I want to deal with my issues, but I’m afraid to take the drugs they recommend. I always seem to have side effects that are unmanageable. If something up there hates me that much I wish it would just get it over with and kill me. But I guess that wouldn’t be much fun for it if it couldn’t see me live to suffer. Maybe that’s a sign that the afterlife isn’t so bad after all, if there is one, if keeping me alive is the worst alternative.

I miss Stacey but don’t want to run to her every time I don’t feel well, which is almost all the time now, or jeopardize the friendship I should be smart enough to know we’ll never have. Even Tom said he doesn’t think she had anything more in mind than an occasional phone call and email. This wasn’t the impression I got, but I’ve misinterpreted people before and I realize I could have her all wrong. I’ll just stick to my original plan and call her at the end of the year or the beginning of next if I don’t need her for the shit I’m going through.