Roid Rage | some people do not tolerate well

harbinger of things to come

I started a med pack 6 days ago for a flare in my back. I anticipated and dreaded this option when I spoke with doctor as I assumed it would be the first line course of treatment before doing any imaging. I am weirdly affected by steroids and doing the high dose packs have a crazy impact on me. Emotions get super amplified and at the last of the pack, my final day, I feel manic.

Yesterday I went to the beach with a garbage bag and my book. I intended to pick up some debris, then dig into a new book that I've been carrying around (a hardback to boot) for a month. I walked north and was happily surprised by the decreased amount of trash on the beach -- much of it washes on shore from boats. Instead of trash there was a weirdly inordinate amount of fish skeletons and vertebrae shards that essentially are tiny daggers that could lodge into your feet (or worse your dog's intestines) . I wondered what was up with this as I've occasionally run across a few, but this was really odd. After a fair distance north, I turn back home, pass my book and head south. The majority of fish parts were to the north. Then I found what looked like the last remains of a goose? I'm terrible with birds but know for certain it wasn't a seagull, pretty much the only bird beyond ducks, swans or pelicans that I know for sure.

After I returned home again, I brought my bag of a few balloon strings, straws, only a couple of the little ends that people use on cigarettes, and fish parts up to the house. As I went up the steps, I stepped on a few acorns and decided I should clean up the path. Pretty soon I was kneeling on the ground scooping away at sand and leaves and acorns to glimpse the original steps that date back to the early 1900s. Frustrated that my hands were not sufficient I went to our shed and got a broom, then back again for a rake. After ridding the path of a few years of debris, I looked at the deck and noticed all the acorns there. I began to sweep but my back started to twinge so I got out the hose. I sprayed down both deck levels, the perimeter of the hot tub, rid the step and rails of cobwebs, then hosed off all of our outdoor furniture, bringing our cushions inside as to not soak them. As I finished, a heavy cloud unleashed a torrent of water and I rushed inside to find my husband waking from a golf inflicted nap (not playing, watching) and my mother in law reading her book. They had not seen me for hours and I wasn't even missed. They had no idea the manic cleaning spree that just occurred (this is important to remember for later).

We return back to GR and my husband makes us an Italian dinner using up all the fresh food we brought back from the cottage and delivering an outstanding meal. We realize its getting late so we made our way downstairs to embark on a new series now that GOT was once again completed. After two episodes, we come up, it is very late and my husband wants me to clean up the kitchen so its not a mess for our housekeeper in the morning. This leads to an argument because I said I'd prefer to do it in the morning and he countered that it was rude to leave the mess and I don't get up until after our housekeeper comes and she hates dirty dishes. (I'm saying housekeeper because it is impossible to explain the backstory of the woman who has been in my life for twenty years, second mother to me, grandmother to my children, and someone I've adored and respected forever). She still comes all these years beyond helping with the kids when I was on bedrest, my mom was sick, A's career and life pulled him away, because she became part of our family. We do pay her though, so she does a lot around the house and now, most importantly, she helps us care for A's mom who has been living with us for a year as she smashes her fight with cancer. This conversation about night cleaning the kitchen suddenly enrages me because I don't understand why in my own house I can't go to bed at night here and there and tackle the dishes in the morning. I talked to my therapist about it as I discuss the fight with A the night before, she simply advised putting a sticky note down to communicate respect.

As we moved to our bedroom, A actually said I was acting like a crazy person and told me I should go sleep in another room -- a suggeestion that made me really mad and in a maniacal response I hollered that I would NEVER be told where to sleep and threw my soft makeup bag at his legs (while he was protected by covers) and stormed out, went down and cleaned the kitchen with such fervor that I thought I was really getting him back! Then I wrote a note explaining how much I had done that day, how I was on day 5 of steroids and that he was supposed to be nice to me. The message was written on the backside of one of those funny apology notes and I drew an arrow for him to fill out his apology to me. I initially thought he threw away the note after he read it in the morning and gave me a kiss goodbye. (Update : He did check off 3 boxes -- He was sorry for 1. talking to me in the kitchen 2. because he knew I didn't like that and 3. he'd never do it again. I felt satisfied by this because in my mind "talking in the kitchen" pretty much wrapped up all that I wanted him not to say to me.

The rest of my day has been insane. I mean, I feel like I'm in a very strange sped up sci fi movie having way too fast conversations with store clerks, the one time I leave the house and realize something is off. I go on my newest bestie for information -- a trick I learned from South Park -- ChatGBT and inquired if my steroids were have an affect on my mood. Oh MY God!!!!

Met with my doctor today and discussed my recurring weird response to steroids. He said, "Yes, that happens. Why did you hike 12 miles if you hadn't exercised in months?" What?! Who goes to Jackson on a multi-adventure vacation with their family and doesn't?!! (despite not doing anything to build up for it)-- BTW, CM -- if you see this, I know I am terrible at remembering the way to use punctuation and don't feel like looking for my MLS guidlelines book (which I know I still have in a ridiculous library of hoarded books).

PS. CM, you've never corrected my punctuation -- I'm just being proactive in stating that I've forgotten all the rules.

#Gilligan is an insult -- don't be fooled by expensive European phenom

#Dogs and stale treats