The Dark Days

Today is my parent's 37th anniversary. I'd show you a photo, but I lost my digital scans of the originals when my hard drive crashed the week of our wedding.

Thirty seven years. Sometimes I think they've made it this far only through stubborn resolve not to quit. The years immediately after dad was fired were hard on all of us, and especially hard on their marriage.

They seem to have come through it though, and both of them take a quiet, deep pride in the accomplishments of the other person. They are good people, and I am grateful to have them in my life.
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Today is the winter solstice; the shortest day of year. The longest night. We woke up this morning to a snowstorm, and I told Dusty and the dog "Guys! It's the shortest day of the year, which only means that tomorrow is a little longer, and the next day even longer. Spring is on its way!"

I think I've been mildly depressed this fall. There are many potential causes: the shortening days, the health of my grandparents, the post-trip blues and the impact the trip had on our finances. The Next Big Thing on the horizon, but a difference of opinion in when and how to get there. Career expansion that's both thrilling and intimidating.

I just haven't felt very sparkly, you know? It's manifested in two drinks a night (more on the weekends), falling into tears easily and serious apathy at work.

It finally poured out to Dusty last night, and he asked all the right questions. "Do you want to go talk to someone about it?" (No, I think once we get through Christmas and the days start to get longer and I'll be so busy that I don't have time to be sad it'll lift).

DJ mentioned that he's always thought that January and February sucked too, and asked "what we can do during those months as a preventative measure?" (Since a trip to Mexico isn't possible, date nights, using our new cross-country skiis on sunny mornings to get me outside, getting big projects done around the house).

My family has a history of depression. Whose doesn't? My grandpa gets particularly owly in the winter, when he's cooped up inside and its dark out. I suggested a light box for him a couple of weeks ago, and now I think it might be on my post-Christmas purchase list.

I've told Dusty about this many times, and given him permission to ask probing questions if I start getting overly crabby at any time. He asked all the right questions last night. He kept asking, "are you okay," to which I kept replying "I will be."

Because it gets brighter from here.

Hard to find the words

Sometimes I fall off the blogging wagon and struggle to get back on.

There have been a lot of things going on lately, and yet... not much to write about. Or, not much I can adequately put to words. Maybe a good way to do it is go through the recent cell phone photos and tell you the stories behind them?

Lets start with this one: of my mom's birthday dinner at my grandparents house.

It's a blurry cell phone picture. If I could set up this picture again, I'd have a nice DSLR camera, with a timer on it. I'd put the camera on a shelf facing the dinner table, set the shutter on continuous mode, and the camera would capture images of the lit candles, the smile on my mom's face, and my grandparents singing "Happy Birthday" to her as she blew the candles out. Somehow the camera would capture the sound of my Grandma's light (alto? soprano?) and my Grandpa's deep baritone.

The camera would not remember the shit storm of an argument Gretchen and I walked in to that Sunday afternoon, as we came over to make a Sunday birthday dinner for my mom. I think all families have this argument at some point; failing health, elderly grandparents, working adult children, lack of in-home care in rural America, the difficult decisions that must be made. What we don't talk about is the fear of losing the ones we love, losing the traditions and memories and institutional family knowledge that comes with their impending death.

It is hard.

I was in eastern Washington that weekend, over Veteran's Day, to visit my sister for "Dad's weekend" at Washington State. Since dad was a little busy playing at Sacramento, I was the stand-in. We ended up down on the field before the game, due to Gretch's participation in a student booster group. My mom was in the area too, so we were able to snag tickets from a friend on the WSU coaching staff and all sit together for the game. In a snowstorm that looked like this:

Pretty epic. The best part was the come-from-behind victory.

And... less than a month later, 'Cougar football has reminded me why sometimes college football can be cruel. You see, the 'Cougs head coach used to work for my dad. He stayed on at Eastern Washington University when my dad left for MSU. After his first wife died of a brain tumor, he remarried and now has a son and a stepdaughter. In 2007 WSU fired their football coach (whose wife, ironically, had died of ovarian cancer the year before) and our friend was hired at his alma mater and where he played, WSU. Four years later, and about 3.5 weeks after this picture, Paul was fired from WSU.

I think I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when it comes to people we know being fired. Seriously, all last week I was weepy and had a chest ache every time I think about it. It makes me sick.

And so, it seems the only thing to do is come home and cuddle this furball, who never fails to make me laugh:

(Don't fear, she punished me for this indignity by eating one of the glass ball ornaments the next day). 

At least the doggie knows how to hang out and roll with the punches.

How I feel

Sorry to leave that post up for so long. Not exactly a warm and cheery greeting when you come here.

I haven't posted in a while because I fell out of the habit. Because I haven't been sure what to say. Because there is a lot to say, and nothing to say, at the same time.

My grandma is dying. My grandpa is... hanging in there, though he's not all there, you know? I drove over to see them over Veteran's Day weekend in a visit which was simultaneously too short and too long.

I developed a cold on Thursday afternoon, and spent Friday home on the couch. We had wonderful houseguests for the weekend. They were here for the annual rivalry football game. We had a lovely visit.

Thanksgiving is in two days, and we've been whipsawed back and forth about the plans. First we're hosting, then we're going to grandmas, then we're hosting, now we're going to my parents. Someone just make a damn plan and stick with it.

I seem to have become pretty crabby and morose as the days have gotten shorter. I'm short tempered, quick to say something biting, crabby, petulant. And this cold has kept me from the gym, my usual coping mechanism. So now I feel grumpy, crabby and fat.

Dusty's brother finally got engaged, and I'm so happy. For them, of course, but for me too. As Brian seemed to drag his feet, I started to worry about how I'd keep his girlfriend as a friend if they broke up. So yes, I'm selfish even in that aspect.

I mentioned to Dusty last night that between Veterans Day and New Years Day is hard for me. Lots to do, and sometimes nothing to do, all at once. Short days, snowy weather, the stress of holiday shopping, etc.

Man, this cold needs to clear so I can get back to the gym!

Hypothyroidism

I've struggled with insomnia for the last year or so. I usually lie down to bed, read until my eyes are tired, switch off the light and let my mind wander its way to sleep. Most nights, I fall asleep pretty quickly.

Other nights, instead of turning the corner to la-la-land, I head straight into start-the-brain-spinning-again-land. And suddenly it's three hours after I laid down to sleep and I'm wide awake thinking about work, finances, life-planning and a whole host of other issues; none of which are usually worthy of losing sleep over.

I believe it's primarily stress-related. I already do many of the things recommended to alleviate stress. I exercise regularly (5-6 days a week, for an hour), eat pretty well (if not too much), interact with a pet and have a husband I adore. I garden.

I even fiddled around with yoga, to no avail. I felt like I was wasting calorie-burning time.

Yet here I am, a year later, still having trouble sleeping. My doctor asked about my sleeping habits during my annual physical in May. "Just fine," I chirped. Then I got home and was like, wait, why didn't I tell her I've been having a sucky spring sleeping? I've been blaming it on stress and a mattress that desperately needs to be replaced, but...?

Let me give a bit of family medical history background for you too. Most of the women in my family have a form of hypothyroidism. Your thyroid is a butterfly shaped gland at the base of the Adam's apple, which releases all kind of hormones which interact with your pituitary gland and other hormones. In the case of hypo, the thyroid doesn't release enough hormones, and symptoms include lethargy, weight gain, difficulty keeping weight off and sometimes high blood pressure.

Why yes, I have all of those.

I've taken a synthetic thyroid supplement since I was 19. It's supposed to balance things out, and my TSH and T4 levels are checked every year as blood work during my annual physical.

You should have figured out by now that my levels were out of whack at my last physical. My primary care physician, an internist, upped the dosage, and asked me to come back for a blood panel again in the middle of July. I'll do that Wednesday morning.

I'm reticent to start popping Tylenol PM pills more than once a week. They give me a nasty hangover-like effect the next day. And really, I don't want to treat the symptom (that I can't sleep), I want to address the cause. I need to find a non-eating way to handle my stress. I need to evaluate all of the medical reasons I can't sleep.

Because damn, I need more sleep!

Doooooog

Harlow has been in our house for nearly a year and a half now. She's awesome. I could dither on about how she makes us laugh, injects a certain level of silliness into our household, loves to snuggle, etc., but it really just comes back to her being awesome.

She does have one flaw though. Home girl cannot, and I mean absolutely cannot, stop herself from eating shit she shouldn't eat. Sometimes it's literal shit in her mouth. Cat shit seems to be her preference.

Are you grossed out? Yeah, me too.

Harlow got into something out at my grandma's farm the Friday before the 4th of July. It might have been a poisoned sick bird, maybe too much cat shit, maybe not enough water and too much fun. Either way, she proceeded to puke every 2-3 hours Saturday and Sunday. It took her until nearly Tuesday to really recover. At one point she was so reticent to eat we were giving her waffles from the table in an effort to get something, anything into her.

The alarm is going off a half hour early all this week due to workload and being out of town. And wouldn't you know it, riiight as we're about to turn out the light Harlow barfs up dinner. On the carpet. Right next to our bed. DOOOOGGGGG.

Lets just say that DJ and I need to perfect our emergency-vomit-not-in-the-toilet clean up routine. And that once your dog yaaks, you're pretty much not falling back asleep that night. Unless your DJ, in which case you're out like a light 20 minutes later. Unlike your wife, who flops around in bed from 10:30pm until 1:45 am before finally deciding "eff it, I'll get up and do something."

Dog vomit leads to insomnia, I guess.

What can I say, at least she's still cute.

In sickness

DJ and I have a deep aversion to the "OMG I have the best hubby in the world" posts on Facebook. It's just too much for us. But damn, if any guy ever earned one of those over-share mush posts, it'd be DJ.

Friday night I was in a MOOD. I mean, angry, pissed off, unapproachable and just wound tight MOOD. I couldn't figure out why. A run with the dog didn't help. DJ wisely gave me a wide berth while I cleaned the bathroom and went to bed.

I woke up Saturday with the cold from hell. Or the Influenza of 1918. Maybe Bird Flu. Or H1N1. Whatever this shit is, it's effectively kicked my ass through today. There were hot flashes and cold sweats. Death-rattle coughing. Feverish. Snotty. Exhaustion. Basically the worst parts of the Bible.

Okay, I know I'm exaggerating here, but seriously, it's been awful. I finally went to the doctor yesterday for antibiotics, prescription strength cough syrup and a decongestant. I also picked up a Neti pot for nasal irrigation. Dudes; call me a hippie, but I'm hooked. That shit works to clear out congestion. It's awesome.

In the mean time, I've been sleeping on the couch, attended by my faithful dog, who also likes naps, as long as duckie is within reach.