1k the lazy way.

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Behold the skulls of my ... um.. I've got nothing.

Well, I've got a cool picture of skulls, so that counts right?

Headache, go away.

Dear Reader,

I had a migraine this morning. It sucked. It sucked the life out of me for most of the day. It was stupid luck that I was awake when the landlord stopped by to fix the light in the entryway and replace the battery in the smoke detector that has been chirping for a while. Did I mention that the smoke detector is 8 ft in the air, at least. They didn't advertise high ceilings in the apartment, but the back hallway and the bathroom have high ceilings. High enough that you need a real ladder for a 6ft tall man to reach the ceiling and replace the stupid battery in the stupid smoke detector but it takes forever because there is TWO smoke detectors and you have to test both to figure out which one is the one that actually works.

One used to be hardwired in and has been left in place because there is a hole in the ceiling there. Of course that one doesn't work. And the other was a pain to deal with because you had to use a screwdriver to open it up and get into the guts of it to replace a 9 volt battery. It was annoying. Can you tell I am annoyed with the affair? The landlord was bemused with it all. That only added to my irritation. It was the fact that he had the gall to ask if there was anything else to be fixed while he was there. I was so gob smacked I didn't rattle off the list of the door frame that's coming apart in the kids room, the sink that gurgles loudly when ever a quantity of water goes down the drain ANYWHERE in the building, or the electrical outlet that is getting loose again.

I just stared at him in disbelief as he walked out cheerfully, as if he were some kind of minor hero. I loathe this man. He didn't even notice the door slamming behind him. The front door that has one of those hinges that is supposed to keep it from slamming, slammed because it is broken. According to theory, he has painters working on sprucing up the interior of the building and there will be contractors coming in to fix the hole in the entryway ceiling. I suspect hell will freeze over first.

I have had a headache all day. It makes me a little grumpy. But not as grumpy as that made me.

A bit of rambling thoughts.

Dear Reader,

I have been having some trouble with a manuscript, again. I'm not going to shove it into a proverbial drawer and forget about it, but I am mildly vexed with the thing. At the same time, I am realizing the problem is not the manuscript. The problem is how I am viewing things. Mostly myself, to be honest.

I have a pretty severe case of imposter syndrome. I feel like I'm a fraud because I am not selling books and I'm not out there hustling my work to make money. I feel like I'm a fraud because I spend most days struggling with therapy writing and doing things to try to make my brain work properly instead of engaging in the Great Work. The running joke when I was a kid was that I was going to write the next great american novel. The joke wasn't funny to me. I didn't care if it was the next great american novel, but the idea of writing as my purpose in life was very strong.

I spend less time "writing" than I did when I was in my twenties. I feel guilty about that. I pulled off college, full time work, and working on a novel all at the same time. I feel like I should be able to churn out that level of effort now. And I feel like a fraud because I can't, because I'm disabled and I have two children who keep me busy. I have times where I feel like I'm walking a high wire act with out a net and have a bout of emotional vertigo. That's when I feel like a fraud.

Who am I to by writing about home economics? I'm just a housewife, not a professional. Who am I to be writing erotica? I've only had three lovers in my life.  Who am I to be writing recipes? I'm no award winning chef.

The list of it all goes on and on. So, I get into this state where I am all a quiver with anxiety and my mind is racing with this back and forth between what I described above and a very indignant part of me that says with enough research, creativity, and time, I can write damn near anything on any topic.

But, tonight, I feel like a fraud and the castigating side of the argument is louder. I've talked about this stuff in therapy. It all boils down to the sheer volume of emotional abuse that I had to put up with in the past. All of the cutting remarks and backhanded "critiques" that were made just churned up with my anxiety into a hell broth for my brain. Throw in a bit of seasonal affective disorder on top of it, I basically sit and stew with anxiety for hours until I'm exhausted or angry, if not both.

It's really frustrating. Because I know that scumbag brain is lying to me. I can point out all the damn lies line for line. But my anxiety goes "But what if...?" and I'm off to the races. I'm going to start writing down counter arguments for this litany of how I'm not qualified for anything. I have plenty of notebooks. And when scumbag brain gets going, I'm going to recite the counter arguments kinda like medieval people recited prayers against temptation when things got hard. Who knows if it will help or not.

Dairy free cookie dough bites.

1 c almond flour
1/4 c granulated stevia sweetener for baking
1/4 c almond milk
dash of vanilla extract
handful dark chocolate chips

Mix together until a soft dough forms. Shape into walnut sized balls. Chill in the fridge until firm.

Goes excellently with tea. I've been experimenting with ratios of spices in this too. A generous amount of cinnamon and nutmeg gives you something like a snickerdoodle cookie dough. According to the source recipe (which uses cream instead of almond milk) this has around 3.5 carbs per serving which is theoretically three balls.

Life Ramblings.

New hair.

So, life's been busy. The kids went back to school last month and I've been spinning in circles doing everything but spinning right now. I have started working on my NaNoWriMo project already because I'm drafting it out by hand. I feel absolutely zero guilt for starting early. Because I know that November is going to be kinda nuts.

I mean, the kids have a week long break in the middle of the month and a few days off to go with it. I'm pretty sure it's going to make me go even more grey.

The depression thing is somewhat improved. It's weird. I am no longer at that state of numb/ready to start sobbing at the drop of a hat. At the same time, I'm not feeling well. On a scale of one to ten, with one being severely depressed and ten being manic, I'm around a five. With troublesome thoughts bothering me and increase migraines. I am pretty sure the migraines is because of the higher dosage of the antidepressant and the fact that the weather has been swinging back and forth between seasonable and stupid. I'm upright and functional, so I guess that is a win. The real question is if the seasonal affective disorder is going to rear its head and screw everything up.

I am right now not thrilled with the fact that I've had to cut my hair short out of necessity. I am now having eczema issues on my ears. This means my hair being against my ears itches terribly. And I have to make sure that I wear the RIGHT scarves or I'm ready to rip the thing off my head because it makes my ears bother me. I'm still trying to convince myself that it is perfectly acceptable to moisturize the tops of my ears. My skin has been getting drier. I've been attempting to deny it and act like it is not an issue but it really is a thing. And I think it is directly tied to the diabetes.

Next week I have my appointment with my family doctor to see how I am doing with the diabetes thing. My average fasting blood sugars have dropped into the upper end of the normal range. I'm not sure if he wants me to get them lower or not. I am still struggling to figure out what foods are ok for me to eat. It pains me to say that pasta and I are going to have to part ways. Even an appropriate serving of pasta makes my blood sugar spike. This makes me very sad because pasta is my favorite food in the whole world. And zucchini noodles are just not the same as spaghetti.

I am slowly assembling a small cookbook of collected recipes for managing my diabetes stuff and still have the rest of the family able to eat normalish. Because I've hit the point that preparing three meals every meal is too much. I'm now down to two because the kids are picky and Beloved is doing his best to eat what I do. I have a large stockpile of pasta that I am going to pretty much be cooking for Beloved and the kids. It makes me kinda sad that I can't enjoy it but at least they get to.

I'm struggling to adjust to my new normal. I look in the mirror and the reflection just doesn't look right. I went grey over the course of a few months and didn't realize how much of my hair had gone grey until I got it cut. I've had my hair get thinner over the last several months. I'm trying not to listen to my anxiety telling me that I'm going to suffer from female pattern baldness. My pants size has gone down, which I suppose is good, but the number on the scale hasn't moved. I tell myself that I'm building muscle as quickly as I'm losing inches. It feels like a lie.

Daily exercise is a challenge. I'm probably going to blog on here more bitching about stuff like walking in the damn snow. I will post some about the recipes that I try. There may be some weirdness too that I'm not posting on my other blogs.