Holidays are well over now and I’ve been back to work for a week so I guess it’s time to return to semi-regular blogging.
I’m typing this while walking on the treadmill; with some ‘Zon gift cards this year, I ordered a simple standing desk that goes over my small treadmill. There are some things I absolutely need steadiness for, like working in Photoshop, but this is great for answering emails, blogging, newsletter, or doomscrolling twitter with my coffee in the morning.
It’s not fancy, but it works. And of course I overdid it the first day, forgetting that I am woefully out of shape* and also forty.
I was saying to a friend the other day that I know the assumption that people used to live to only forty or fifty is based on skewed data from high infant mortality rates, but also it feels true. Because wow do things get harder in your thirties and then forty is like “I’m laid up in bed for a week because I turned my head too fast and threw my entire back out”. If I could go back in time, I’d tell my younger self…well, a lot of things, but also to stretch more and keep those joints limber. But I also wouldn’t have listened to myself because I didn’t think I’d live this long.
So right now, M W F I’m getting up and clearing off the treadmill as part of the morning routine (covered because cat hair and then double covered because cats pee on things) and hopping on it with my coffee, laptop, and music blaring (this week it’s a lot of Lizzo).
It’s bound to help me sleep, at least, which has been severely lacking. The past three weeks with Shawn have been like having a neonatal bottle baby again–he was getting me up every couple of hours to feed him, and often refused to eat food on its own but insisted on being handfed.
It’s hard to tell with him if he’s not feeling well or if he’s just being a baby, but last week at his recheck they sent him home with more anti-inflammatories because he wasn’t healing as well as he should’ve been. There’s been some talk of stomatitis, which would mean pulling the rest of the teeth (and it took me, like, a year to save up $2000 for December’s surgery–I’m bled dry and spending a small fortune on canned food for him right now means I am tapped the fuck out, although SHOUTOUT TO Nightdreamer again for funding my expensive child’s endless belly yesterday).
But yesterday he got the all clear–he’s doing much better, and doesn’t need another recheck. I’ll be reintroducing dry food next week.
He’s still getting his regular painkiller, though, at least at night, as it’s the only way he lets me sleep.
I’m hoping between keeping the furry child drugged and walking a couple of miles a day will get me better rested, because, again, I cannot function on three hours of sleep anymore. I have too much work to do that requires my brain, and I don’t want clients to suffer (or my bank account) because of this bullshit.
My first mile is done now, so I’ll close this off with happy Friday the Thirteenth. Which is also HAPPY TWO DAYS UNTIL THE LAST OF US.
*Partially my fault, but also partially not–I spent the better part of a year getting hit with intense pain unpredictably that knocked me off the treadmill a few times, and I’ve been trying to rebuild normal habits again like being able to eat raw veggies again and exercise without worry I’m going to vomit from pain. Fun times!
Writer of urban fantasy, thrillers/mysteries, and horror.
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