March Came In Like A Polar Bear

Today was supposed to be warmer.  I bundled up Fletcher, took him to the park, and it was 19 degrees.  19 fucking degrees.  The poor little guy gets sooooo cold.  Everywhere is solid ice.




 Rupert has the right idea.

 I'm on a diuretic to help with my blood pressure.  My doctor FINALLY admitted that the other drugs interact with my nervous system.  Thanks, genius.  I spent every summer for several years shut in my apartment, because if I went out, my legs would give out from under me.  Then I'd see the neurologist.  He'd have me briskly stagger down the hall, turn fast and crash against the wall, and stagger back again.  They did two cranial MRIs.  The first one--boy howdy, my brain was messed up.  But the next one, as my doctor put it, "showed the same exquisite abnormalities as the last one."  I'm not sure he used that word, because a doctor at the Lenox Hill psych ward in 2009, who saw me collapse every day when I was given Abilify, said I had an exquisitely sensitive system.  It doesn't seem to have much effect other than a faint feeling I need to pee.

And I'm having trouble with my eating.  Again.  It's probably because I hit 210, and that scares me.  Getting thinner scares me, it always has.  I haven't binged, but I'm eating just enough to make sure my weight doesn't go down.  Combined with not going aside unless necessary, recipe for weight gain.  I don't exercise nearly enough, even though at intervals I enjoy it.  For the past two years I had a joint membership at the Y, which I didn't use.  This go-round I told him to re-up as a single member.  I'll go with a guest pass.  The resentment level has dropped precipitously.  Now I can look for a disability dance class without feeling guilty.  I can do everything ten times better to music, and I love dancing.

Today I'm taking another bash at the play intro, and then sending it in.  Fuck it, even if it's filler, I have to get it off my to-do list.