Pretty Much My Week to This Point

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The acupuncture treatment went very well.  I was aware of a slight sting when the needles went in, but it was much less than being stuck with a regular sewing needle.  Not a problem at all.  Honestly.

There was also a cupping treatment, which was more uncomfortable than the acupuncture.

What has caused the most problem since, however, was the intense massage.  Since I woke up yesterday, I have had a searing headache.  Everything that was done was to release pent-up energy and toxins, and I must be a damn landfill of the stuff, as much pain as I've been in since.  I've been in bed with ice packs all day today, even having to cancel a therapy appointment.

The therapist told me on Saturday that my symptoms might worsen after the treatments.  She was right.

Insert Needle A Into Body K

Going to an acupuncturist in the morning.  (Why isn't that spelled "accupuncture"?  Seems more accurate.)  Decided to try some other possible remedies for my anxiety/stress/depression and my headaches.  I've no fear of needles, so that isn't a problem.  I do wonder, though, what the feeling will be like as the energy begins to move around.  There's a whole lot of bad stuff stored up in this body, and I just wonder what it's going to feel like when someone tries to take it out.

I just have to do something.  Spinning in place has gotten old.  And Briton is convinced I'm suicidal again.  All I want to do is stay in bed and sleep, which has always been, as I'm sure I've said dozens of times here already, my Worrisome Sign.

So, we'll give that a whirl tomorrow.  'Til then, Rifftrax and Noro silk:

It's Photo Day!

While I do, indeed, have boards on Pinterest, I don't visit there regularly.  I do, however, regularly find pictures that I like.  Since meaningful content escapes me today, I thought I'd show you some.



Baby rhinoceri are among my favorite baby animals.  Very near, if not at, the top of a list like that.

Tapirs were one of Briton's favorite animals growing up.  This is a practically-newborn being meaningful and squeefully cute at the same time.

I love, worship and adore Barry Gibb anyway --- but the fact that he is left-handed sends him right over the top.

First saw this picture yesterday, and still can't come up with words equal to my delight in it.

Can't come up with words for this one, either.  But for an entirely different reason.

Finding A Way

When I was in middle school, high school and college, I was a fervent writer of poetry.  In high school, my best friend and I would compile our poems into compilations "books" and exchange them with one another.  She, being an excellent artist, illustrated a lot of her pages.  Mine were can't-draw-anything-but-a-balloon bare.  Those were some of the best days of my life --- the two of us encouraging each other, sharing these words that we wouldn't let anyone else see.

As I said, I wrote all through college --- even making The National Poetry Review at one point.  But somewhere along the way, I just sort of stopped writing.

Last week, my therapist gave me a copy of The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron to leaf through.  I had had a copy when I was going through my SARK/self-help book extravaganza after Dale died, but, like almost all those titles, I gave/threw it away.

The book guides you through a 12-week "path" to opening, or re-opening, the creative part of you. At this very moment, I can't tell you why I'm doing this, or what I expect/hope will come out of it.  I can only tell you that it is marvelous running a pen across paper again for something other than writing checks or settling estate issues.  I don't know what kind of creative writing I'll do, or when, but, if it doesn't make me cringe on second or third reading, I promise to share it here.

The Day After

My birthday cake for this year arrived a day early.  It's siren song came from the refrigerator for many long, long hours before we could finally cut into it:

Tres Leches with fresh strawberries and real whipped cream.

I KNOW!

I always wear purple on my birthday.  This year's daywear choice (I changed into a purple turtleneck for dinner out):

Good day.

If You Were Here Right Now

You would hear Klunk behind Hannah's bedroom door, begging to be let out.

You would hear Hannah yelling at him from the den, because his mewling is interrupting her "Deep Space 9" marathon. 

You would have seen Briton hastening out the door after receiving a call that one of his actors is AWOL from tonight's performance.  He "gets" to fill in.

You would find me lying as still as possible, as I have had a headache today that feels like the hell-bound bastard child of Sinusitis and Migraine.  With Cluster Headache lineages on both sides.

Playing Through the Pain

My arm muscle, whichever it is, is damn serious about keeping me from knitting.  At knitting group last night, I got about 12 rows done before having to stop.  And the pain has continued through today.

This is not going to end well.  I'll either lose my sanity from lack of having something to do, or my arm will be shot from overuse.  

Hey, maybe they can come up with some sort of radical new surgery to deal with knitting-related injuries.  I could be the Tommy John of the fiber world!

On the DL

You may remember that several months ago, Hannah and I went for massages, and my right arm, which had been giving me trouble while knitting, got quite a workover.  As in, to the point of sort of hideous bruising.  That masseuse thought the problem was in my bicep, and gave me stretching and other exercises to help things along.

Well, in the last two or three weeks, the pain had returned, and was actually worse.  Hannah and I had, again, been looking for a date to go in for massages, and when we found one, we pounced.

This time, the masseuse decided the trouble was the deltoid muscle.  And he worked on it for probably half of our entire session.  Hurt (still hurts) like a mother.  And his suggestion was that I cut back on knitting.

Right?  Tell a knitter not to knit.  When that knitter is about to go away for a couple of days and knitting was one of the only three Trip Goals.  Tell a knitter not to knit when the Super Bowl is coming up?

But you know what?  If I knit for very long, the pain is all but unbearable.  Dammit.