Ow ow ow ow ow

I never really know when something else is going to come loose or overtighten and it takes me a while to figure out what is wrong when it happens. Nowadays the thing is this horrible jaw and neck pain, muscle spasms in the back of my neck right under my skull that wrap around to my jaw. It has something to do with the TMJ that I've had for decades; my teeth slide around randomly and different configurations trigger spasms. I just got a fine big healthcare spending account starting January and am planning to use it on braces and new, smaller front crowns to see if that might help. This neck pain started the first day of the new job, sitting in the room reading the policy book and my blackberry in boredom, so it's been about two months now.  Not being able to swim this week with the pool closing for Christmas seemed to bring the RSD roaring back in my right leg, and I didn't sleep Christmas Eve with the hot bear-trap sensation combined with the muscle spasms. I actually got out of bed super early and made a hot bath, and wrapped Epsom Salts in a wet cloth to put on my neck, which helped for a while. So far in the past couple of days, I have taken Aleve, advil, ibuprofen, Exedrin, Xanaflex, magnesium, coffee, pomegranate tea, ginger, Barefoot pinot grigio, and Absolut Rasberi for pain. I am holding out on the Neurontin and Lyrica but it could happen.  Daughter forgot to go to CVS on Christmas Eve for migraine meds and woke up with one yesterday, and we had to blow off our traditional Christmas night chick flick outing. Neither one of us could justify trying to sit up and look at a screen for two hours when we couldn't get our heads to stop hurting for more than ten minutes in a row.
Fella came through for Christmas like a champ; for the second Christmas in a row, I was having to direct as much as cook and he stayed in the tiny kitchen and cleaned everything so we had a place to put things. We had a nice dinner even though the fresh turkey turned out to be a fresh turkey breast and I only like dark meat; the hazards of shopping when one is very very tired from work and the store is picked over but empty of other shoppers. I had thought it was a little funny looking in the package. Should have shown more curiosity.
We ended up with turkey breast and gravy, stuffing, coca-cola salad, homemade cranberry relish with my sister's orange in it, cranberry jelly in a can with stripes that he likes, sweet potatoes with my sister's orange in them, my child's beloved green bean casserole, rolls, chocolate pie, cherry pie, pecan tassies, and hello dollies. Festive. Southern. Excessive.
One pool out of the three in town is supposed to be open today for a short time and I am going to go try to swim and walk in it and see if my neck and leg will give me a break so I can enjoy the rest of my holiday without excessive drugs.

Yay

Child is home, in a good mood, and not making any messes so far. I have four days off in a row to not even think about how bad the job from hell makes my feet, back, and neck hurt.
The bathroom is almost finished and it really looks lovely. The fella has outdone himself.
There is a Christmas tree on the back porch that may make its way in here tomorrow and get a few ornaments on it. There is pecan tassie cream cheese crust in the fridge from some food processor magic I worked under the influence of Absolut Rasberi and o.j. a little earlier tonight.
There's even a tiny pile of presents and, thanks to a check my sister sent me, I can pay the car insurance and not be overdrawn at the bank if I don't buy anything next week until Thursday.
I know how Cindy Lou Who felt at Christmas.

Fifteen and a half years

I don't know what that is in dog years. Most Shelties, they tell me, live about twelve.
Our Sheltie has always been amazing. Amazingly bright, amazing at language and brilliant at herding both cats and people. Routines like a German schoolteacher, a built-in alarm clock that functioned to the minute.
Any time the girl or I felt sad, there has always been a sable shoulder pressed against our leg; free love, instant perspective. World's best dog, hands down. When she was younger, we walked three to five miles a day, her prance was inspiring. She hasn't been able to make the block in a while.
Whenever she has a bath or her collar gets dirty, and she has to go naked, she gets aggravated; we call her tags her jewelry, and she points her nose and harfs at them until someone gets a clue and puts them back on her neck. When she shakes them to hear them, it's like a princess preening her diamonds.
This week she hadn't felt like breakfast; last night she didn't feel like dinner. She did feel like taking a few treats. But they didn't digest, I could hear the rumbling of her stomach when she got restless in the night; and she did not recognize me. And she couldn't stand up.
The fella came first thing when I called, and carried her in a blanket to the vet. She didn't know what was going on; her first vet visit in fifteen and a half years that she wasn't terrified.
They made me a pawprint to bake, and a lock of her hair.
The fella buried her in her spot under the flowering cherry. I put her jewelry back on after the vet tech had removed it; stupid, but I couldn't bear to think of her without it around her neck.
I don't think I ever want another dog.

How Bad are Farts Supposed to Hurt?

Things you can't ask people except on the internet.

I had a minor GI bleed earlier this week; my stomach burned badly two or three days and then the telltale black sticky blood-smell diarrhea showed up. I've cleaned up hundreds of other people's GI bleeds; this one was minor by most standards. But blood and the GI tract are not very compatible and it gives you TERRIBLE gas. Like, fraternity quality death length farts. And damn, that gas is hurting in there way worse than the bleed did. I've stepped up my Citrucel and my soluble fiber; got to get that shit out! So far, it hasn't come to cropdusting people with offensive smell, hopefully it won't. I've already had one bad start at the workplace and don't need another.

Things I am looking forward to

My child is coming home next week. Yay!
My bathroom is soooo close to being remodeled. Ya'll, it's blinding white and lovely. White ceiling, white beadboard paneling floor to ceiling, white mosaic tile floor. New silver light fixture, new silver faucet, new silver towel and tp racks.
There are white sales in January and I am going to get some loud-ass color bathmats. Like, electric blue.
I have  a Leyland cypress for a Christmas tree in a pot and I've got to figure out how to decorate it. Lowe's was out of rosemary bushes but this is bigger, same price, and if it doesn't die will make a nice privacy tree on the back ditch.
I only have sixteen years to retirement. Sixteen years. You could do sixteen years in a Turkish prison, right?

Google Stats is mesmerizing

Someone on dooce told me about the stats button on here. Who knew. I knew there were a couple of my buddies besides my sister reading this but, hello Russia, hello Denmark (is that you, George?) and ya'll chime in and tell me something. Don't be shy, I'm fascinated by this.

Annoyance Proof

Sadly, the other job did not materialize. Sigh. And I paid the bills and my money is gone, and it's twenty days until I get paid again. So that does suck. Next month they will take out retirement and shit and I'll have even less to live on.  Life on the state tit is not that pretty. But! And that is a great big but!!!!
My boss cut me a huge break and after another hellish week on the most fucked-up service in the hospital, I get to change Monday to a different service. No kids to break my heart, no politics and weirdness and people who have been there thirty years and want me to do their fucking work for them and get totally fucking hostile when I just politely ask them to do the parts it's not legal for me to do. Like write prescriptions. So all the stupid stuff that happened today was just minor, and sort of funny to me. Some of it was surreal, but it was going to be SOMEONE ELSE'S PROBLEM at four-thirty so I just documented the surreality of it and went on. My cubicle mate asking me to spell myasthenia gravis and then telling me it didn't look right and looking it up and finding it was right, (dumbass, I wouldn't have told you if I didn't know) was just kind of cute in its stupidity. The spellcheck on here doesn't know it either.  So, yay for the weekend, boo for putting a little bit of Christmas on a credit card I shouldn't use, and hoo-fuckin-ray for getting on a medicine service that is just routine with minimal psycho personalities.
Plus my doctor found me some probiotics that taught my colon to make a few poo shaped poop and that although painful to the lining of said colon being grossly unused to anything in there but goop for years, was somehow cheering. It's the little things.

Groundhog Week

I broke up my week with a job interview and a doctor visit. Otherwise the days are running into each other in a haze of swollen face misery from the bad air quality in the hospital and throbbing pain in my feet from the long hikes. The medicine isn't working as well as it did, either, and I have had about three flares this week with headfog and excruciating muscle spasms and the horrible, crushing fatigue. I wonder if having a job I didn't hate would make me feel better or if it would be harder to be enthusiastic about work and be sick. If they offer me the job I interviewed for it will be something to think about. More money now, but no gravy-train state retirement later. Added bonus, of course, of not having one's soul killed by repetitive and useless phone and paperwork tasks. We'll see.