Move Redux

A Bitmoji rendering of me,
a chubby, fair-skinned, brunette
woman with a tie-dye shirt, blue
shoes, and black pants & jacket.

It has been a year, folks. 

A year since I wrote my last blog post on the topic, which you can read by just clicking the link.

I don't really have objections to working on the same resolution goal single word as last year, except that I might slack off a bit (through sheer repetition) and I'm determined not to.

Determination does not always equal motivation here at Chez GamersBabes; there are neurospicy quirks to contend with, and these (especially that executive dysfunction) are often obstacles to Getting Things Done. Yes, even things that we want to do.

Anyway.

So I have to come up with a word, preferably an action verb, along the same lines as move, but with more oomph. Something that will keep me motivated to Do The Thing even when I don't want to.

I didn't get derailed by a knee injury. 

I have closed my rings for 365 days straight (plus a couple, as it was one year on December 27).

I've got this. 

And I'm a writer, so off to the thesaurus we go.

Act? seems too theater-y.

Go? too vague.

Walk or run or climb? too specific; I can walk. I can't climb or run (at least not in the literal sense).

Progress? Proceed? too passive.

You know what? Forget synonyms for move, much less action verb synonyms. I'm going to go with...

MOTION.

After all, my doctor may have said (regarding the knee injury) "Movement is medicine" but my physical therapist said, "Motion is lotion."

Same thing, really.

We Did It!

A photo of Puget Sound (aka the Salish Sea) from
the deck of the Washington State Ferry Spokane.
Photo taken by Lizzy Kirkland

Our weekend at "the beach" (excuse me; it's not the beach unless the swimming pool is open, which is only in the summer so our weekend at "Grandma's Condo") was nice.

It was also one of those weekends where nothing calamitous happened but lots and lots of minor inconveniences did. Lots.

We forgot our toiletries bag (we left it in the bathroom at home), which also included our meds (except those I keep in my purse anyway, like a rescue inhaler and ibuprofen.). Now, none of us will die in a day and a half without said medications, but there was some concern over the ease of getting to sleep and digestive aids and so forth.

Ferry traffic was insane. We left the house at 12:30 hoping to make the 1:30 boat, but we were prepared to wait for the 3:15 sailing if needed (they only have one boat on the route right now, though it's a busy one). On the way down we got stuck behind someone who broke down in the ferry lane, and finally made it onto the 3:15... which left the dock at 3:35. My knee was super stiff and swollen after the car ride over there (although I drive for a living, even I don't generally drive for five hours at a time, and certainly not without getting up and moving around more than I did here). On the way back we were the sixth car on the 11:05 ferry because we were so close to boarding when the 9:35 sailed.

We stopped at a local grocery store for quick food and toothbrushes, grabbed some bottled water (the water there is really really hard and makes our skin and hair feel nasty), and went on to the condo. We checked in around 5:30 (we had planned for a couple of hours earlier, but, well, ferry traffic). Warmed up some of the food from the grocery store, sat down to watch a movie, and found that the batteries in the remote for the firestick we brought with us were kaput.

Some days (or weekends) are just like that.

So instead, we fiddled with the TV settings and availed ourselves of the DVD version of the Best Movie Ever (ting ting swish!) which lives up there. Lizzy does not remember seeing the Best Movie Ever before, but since it is also the Most Memeable Movie Ever, she enjoyed it greatly.

I always forget how hard it is to get into the high bed at Grandma's Condo, and had never done it before with a bum knee and the CPAP, so that was an adventure. Getting out was easier, though.

Saturday was fun; we met Lizzy's peninsula-side bestie in town and sent them (16 and 15, respectively) loose on Port Townsend while Abby and I did a little more sedate shopping (toy store, general store, lunch, ice-cream-and-candy store). Lizzy helped her friend with Christmas shopping and bought them both lunch, then they hung out at the park and the Marine Science Center (I think) until the friend's mom came back for pickup.

Another day, another episode of forgetting to buy batteries. The DVD for this one was Gremlins.

And back home, with the aforementioned ferry wait. A little motion sickness on Abby's part but that's not unusual, especially with a ferry in the mix.

Anyway, the point here is that Lizzy and I (and to a much lesser extent, Abby) are prone to losing our sh!t when things go wrong, no matter how minor. Since one of those things was the lack of medications to help us regulate that tendency (because we left the toiletries bag at home), the fact that we didn't lose our respective minds is a positive.

Sixteen

When I started this blog, in January of 2011, Lizzy was three. In this picture (taken February 2011), it's little Curlyhead Kiddo in a yellow top, "teaching Grandma to read." Mind you, Lizzy was reading a bit at this point; she's always been hyperlexic. 

Now she is sixteen. She still reads anything she can get her hands on (or even see from a distance), though she has little patience for many of the classics. We get a fair bit of, "Mom, come on, I know there've been books about people who feel like they don't belong published in the last fifty years. I mean, this book is older than you!" With all those teenage italics.

Or more specifically, she will be sixteen at 12:30PM, Pacific Time; she's very precise about these things. I have an alarm set on my phone for that time, with the Victory Theme from Final Fantasy VII as the alarm tone. I surprised her with it when we went to the mall on her... I think it was her tenth(?) birthday, and it has become The Way We Do It.

We've already had a small party, with a splash pad and board games and pizza and an ice cream cake and helium balloons and three of her best friends. Oh, and self-dyed hair; we can't forget that. She did that on Friday - split dye of yellow and pink, and she decided it made her look like a Trufulla Tree (which everyone needs). After the splash park, which is chlorinated, she decided she would do a second coat, as the yellow had faded somewhat. If I get any pix of that, I'll post them later.

Goes nicely with the daisy-flowered black dress, though.

So tonight is Dinner at Grandma's (we have done a family thing for birthdays every year since Abby turned one, so nearly twenty years now), and presents. And the birthday kid's favorite meal, which is pretty basic - bowtie pasta with marinara, and green beans. Usually bread of some sort and a cake or ice cream or something.

Perceptions

Five clay figurines in assorted colors, representing emotions.

August is hard for us.

Everyone who knows us knows this.

In fact, even people who only know us through this blog, on Facebook, or whatever know this.

Aside from the anniversary of Laston's death (on his oldest kid's 16th birthday, no less, poor Lee), there are a bunch of other August issues. There's the ramp-up to school, the not-working because I work for the schools & side gigs are tough to find this year and usually unbearable (for Seattleites) weather.

At least this year we do not (at the moment, anyway) have super extra crappy air quality from forest fires started by asshats declaring their newborn has a penis via blowing shit up in the woods.

Silver linings, I guess.

In past Augusts, my therapist has said it's perfectly okay to have hard days or even a hard month, as long as we're aware of it and not letting it consume us to the exclusion of all else. So we are doing our usual thing (though generally staying off the more contentious parts of the internet lest we let our grief and stress and basic argggghhhh consume us or hurt others), which for Lizzy (Abby is working) involves a lot of LEGO and arts & crafts and reading and video games. 

She made some little clay figurines and painted them. They are intended to be representative of emotions (a la Inside Out, but slightly different ones; she initially designed these on paper for one of her pediatric grief counseling sessions about six and a half years ago. Anger is red and orange and spiky, Fear is green and "shaking like a leaf," and so on. The one for sadness is blue and sort of a very basic figure of someone with a bulbous nose and their hands in front of their chest, as though they were wringing their hands.

“It’s that stim you do when you’re sad Mom. Where your hands get closer and closer to your face the sadder you are.”

“I think it’s upset in general, not just sadness.”

“Well… you do it a lot in August.”

Oof.

She's not wrong.

Irritation

Grumpyjenn is Grumpy.

The Grump started today because every July (the month before the anniversary of my husband's death), Facebook sends me a fresh batch of Widowed Christian Doctors Overseas Who Like My Looks and Want Me to Care for Their Poor Motherless Children and (by the way) have one picture, none with kids, are generally in a military or police uniform that should by rights be falling off their bodies from the weight of all the ribbons and awards and medals (honestly, I swear, these guys are always high ranking, and still show their awards for BSc and SSc). And they love God and Country and Dogs and Their Poor Motherless Children and they don't seem to have noticed that my profile picture is almost always a cartoon version of me.

A woman in a progress flag T-shirt, with
folded arms, an annoyed expression,
and the caption HMPH! in big purple letters

Anyway, so that set the stage for Grumpiness, which I am trying to get out of by Making a List of irritants I've seen or experienced today. 

You know, the random little things that make me want to smack people. 

Writing these out almost always makes me feel better. So here goes.

• I do not grok Star Trek fans who hate change.

• I also do not grok Star Trek fans who think NuTrek is "too woke."

• Or people who want to ban books. It reminds me of Abby's line when she was in Seussical the Musical a few years back. "Oh, Jojo, I fear you've been thinking again!" (Evidently, today I am the Sour Kangaroo, in mood if not in outlook)

• And the cognitive dissonance of "pro-life" and "pro-gun" in the same people.

• Oooo - people who call me a liberal snowflake and imply that I am afraid of everything, who also can't go to the grocery store without bringing an arsenal

• Or who are still setting off fireworks on July 23

• Or my own I-want-to-but-I-can't-get-started executive dysfunction

• Or the fact that I am allergic/sensitive to more than one of my favorite foods

• Grammarly should understand my casual writing style by now

• That the GOP thinks the electorate is massively gullible... and that sometimes they're right

See? That's helped. Possibly because I got all the sarcastic bitchiness out of the way.

Saving up Dopamine

A Bitmori cartoon of me, a fair-skinned,
green-eyed, ponytailed brunette-with-grey
person wearing a blue tee with a progress-
flag heart and exhibiting heart-shaped fireworks.

Look, anyone who has been reading my blog - any of my several blogs - knows a few things about us. I'm a widowed mom of two, one of them 20 and the other 15. The 15 (Lizzy) is AuDHD (that's autistic and ADHD for people who don't sling that particular lingo), I probably am as well, and the 20 (Abby) is almost certainly dyslexic and possibly ADHD (theater is a socially acceptable way of channeling that). 

You know that I'm fat, that I hurt my knee a few months ago and I'm in physical therapy for it, and that I loathe the hypocrisy of so-called patriots. You know that Lizzy is not a great student, although she's hyperlexic and an avid learner if she can do it her own way. You know that Abby is a bit shy unless she's bursting into song and dance or telling you about anime characters.

In general, we are an anxious bunch, really.

And - as with Thanksgiving - we try not to be hypocritical assholes around other national holidays.

This isn't easy, you know. I'm not feeling super patriotic in our oligarchy-that-is-headed-toward theocracy; it's not safe to be anything but a cishet white dude. I disapprove of fireworks that are illegal, super noisy boomy ones, and/or are let off by amateurs outside of the hours approved by law (and by extension, a sheriff's office that won't enforce those hours any more than it enforced mask mandates). I kind of despise the sort of folks who think it's their God-given right to BSU just for funsies, and f*ck the pets, veterans, or others who just want to feel safe in their own homes. 

Unkindness pisses me off.

You'll have to excuse my tone; my fitness apps are unhappy with the amount of sleep (very little) that I've gotten in the past two nights. And I suspect tonight as well.

But here's the thing: I don't really want to celebrate the big ol' US of A right now because a lot of folks I love are not safe here, but I do want to celebrate summer and hanging out with friendly neighbors and healthy kiddos. And as in that Thanksgiving link above, I think it's important to celebrate the small things, even if I really hate most of the big things right now.

And I like the pretty lights, if not the booms and whistles.

So here's what we did. We went to the safe-n-sane fireworks shop and got small things - ground bloom flowers, sparklers, a couple little fountains, and a bigger fountain or two. Nothing that sends flaming balls into the trees, nothing that makes us flinch away from the sound, and nothing that shakes the ground. We'll be setting those off (sparklers just before dark), with our neighbors across the street, as we have done for years. It's the sort of thing we even did at the height of the pandemic because it was outside. I'll keep a mask on me because the smoke is usually too much for the asthma.

But we are an anxious bunch, so I've also been running the sprinkler on my lawn for three days and nights straight, and the first step when we actually go out to light things is to fill up the kiddie pool with water. And...

And we have spent the day doing comfort activities - playing video games, reading, making cookies, even folding laundry, having spaghetti for dinner, etc - so as to be as calm as possible this evening because we feel safe.

So we're saving up dopamine by doing the familiar and comfortable. It helps us enjoy the peopleing and flashing lights, and even helps us tolerate the house-shaking thuds of the illegal stuff. 

And enjoying a celebration - even if I'm celebrating something a little off on a tangent - is important.

Death of a Thousand Paper Cuts

Lizzy is sick.

A photo of a curly-top toddler asleep on a
blue-striped couch and a green pillow.

It's nothing serious; she has the sniffles, a scratchy throat, a stuffy nose, fatigue, and a little bit of a headache. She has no fever and her covid test was negative.

She is, of course, absolutely wretched and miserable.

I mean, it's not the flu or covid or a bacterial infection of any sort. Those would cause a fever and/or a positive covid test. It's just a summer cold (yeah, yeah, it's not summer yet; there are three days to go).

But it's the first time she's been sick-sick since before covid started. She's had hay fever symptoms or an earache a couple of times, mild reactions to medications or vaccines, and only the Woodinville Evergreen Urgent Care knows how many injuries, the little Mad Scientist.

She's always had Really Big Problems with head colds, though, and this is no exception.

Part of the problem is that she has a number of sensory issues as an autism quirk, and evidently a stuffy nose is a really big one for her. Always has been, as noted above, even before she was diagnosed.

Like since she was a baby.

But the time I remember most clearly was when she was nearly four, at Grandma's house for the day because it's bad form to attend preschool or daycare with a head cold, and Grandma made her blueberry tea (nothing fancy; just True Blueberry from Celestial Seasonings and honey). 

You would've thought someone handed her the moon.

We generally keep it on hand, even though it isn't available at our local grocery stores on its own; it's only there in the mixed fruit teas box.

But we didn't have any today and we were out of honey (we have agave nectar but it's "just not the same"), and we didn't have any of her homemade chicken-veggie soup,  and she couldn't find any tissues, and since she couldn't sleep it all cascaded into her more-or-less devolving into that coldy toddler-that-was. Death of a thousand papercuts.

She's doing okay now that Grandma and Abby and I between us have provided the proper soup, blueberry tea (only four bags because locally they come in the multi-flavor pack only), extra blueberry herbal tea from Stash instead of Celestial Seasonings to see if it's a viable substitute (verdict is that yes! It is!), tissues, and a raspberry-filled donut.

And we're taking it easy today. We have the whole (three-day) weekend to machete the blackberry bush and plant the tomatoes and tidy up the yard.

Today is for comfort food and TV and books and tea and video games.

Random Thoughts Around Neurospiciness

A rainbow "color-picker" infinity symbol with the phrase
Why light it up blue... when we have a whole spectrum?

I was responding to a Facebook post about infantilizing autistic people and the evidently obsessive need of some adults to label autism (and other neuro stuff) with functioning or mental-age labels for ease of categorization.

I ended up writing a small novel on the topic, so I am copy-and-pasting it below:

I have a 15yo AuDHD daughter (I probably am as well, but they weren't calling it that in 1983 when I was tested).

She loves chaotic characters in her fantasy fiction, magnets, Minecraft, beading, knowing ridiculous amounts of FNaF lore, acrylic paint, her older sister, shucking corn, and showing off her encyclopedic knowledge of random trivia.

She hates being infantilized, people expecting her to keep up "because she doesn't look autistic," unrealistic expectations, adults not explaining why, and bigotry.

Are these because she's autistic? Or ADHD? Or fifteen years old? Or because we lost her father when she was eight? Or is she just a child of the 21st century? Who knows?

It's silly (and ableist) to put people in tiny little boxes to make it easier to categorize them, as though they were so many left-handed socket wrenches or something.

My motto - and that of her best teachers, thank goodness - is "Meet the kid where they are."

And also, please let them speak for themselves when they can. I mean, you can help them, support them, advocate for them... but it's about them, not about you.

This is Too Much

I am perhaps a bit on edge today because I just got a call that clearly came from my kid's high school and I actually started to cry. 

Out of sheer worry.

Because, you know, the world is falling apart and a bunch of people are more worried about whether a drag queen is reading Doctor Seuss to kids than whether the whole school gets shot up by a former student with a gun and a grudge.

"Hi, Ms. Kirkland, this is TeacherName from the SchoolName Social Studies department, and I have your name on a list of theme readers (note: folks who help teachers grade papers) and wondered if you have availability."

I don't, right now, but a simple call from a number I recognize should not inspire dread. He was very apologetic, and said he should have led with everything-is-fine, but he didn't know I was a parent for that school too.

The fact that they even think they should have to worry about that phrasing - I mean, he's not the school nurse in charge of my anaphylactic kiddo - being the first thing when they call a helper, is terribly disheartening.

Six Weeks Later (Knee)

A pale arm giving a thumbs-up

Knees with soft-tissue injuries are reputed to take four-to-six weeks to heal.

Just finished Week Six and it's considerably better, but it still has a ways to go. I'm off crutches, wearing the knee brace except in bed, and using a cane (and I have gotten quite good with the cane, actually). Still meeting my daily fitness goals per my Apple Watch, just hit my first hundred-day streak, and am now experienced enough with the thing to get irritated that it doesn't allow for things like knee injuries. Not in and of itself, anyway; I need to find an app for that.

Anyway, a follow-up appointment for my knee today. My blood pressure is down (yay!) even though I went off the extra BP medication earlier this week (I do not need a side effect of cough in the springtime when there's already asthma and alder pollen and all the covidness of it out there), and it appears that naproxen (Aleve) causes my BP to spike as well. So I went off both of those of my own volition (informed my doctor) and my BP is still okay. It's possible it was just quite high when I went in six weeks ago because of pain and white coat syndrome and my unreasoning-but-understandable hatred of Totem Lake near the hospital.

The knee is still swollen (doc called it an "effusion") more than it should be. This may be any number of things, but none of them are immediately or urgently harmful. So we're going to do about six weeks of physical therapy and recheck then to see how it's going. In the meantime, try this other NSAID, if it makes my BP spike then I go back to ibuprofen. Less of it than I'm taking now, by preference. Oh, and alternate ice and damp heat instead of just ice.

In other (related) news, my doc is very pleased with how much physical movement I'm getting in, even with the ouchie knee, and quite pleased with my adherence to protocols for things like meds and vitamins and the CPAP machine (and that I have quit coffee and cut way back on dairy and sodium). I am a compliant patient, enough so that when I nope out of something because of its particular side effects (:koff:lisinopril:koff: - literally) she pays attention. That's a mark of a good doctor, in my opinion; they don't just assume that Doctor Knows Best.

So, next steps: get a physical therapist (if my mom's PT takes my insurance I'll go there), get the Rx for the new NSAID (should be ready tomorrow), and find a gamified fitness app that focuses more on general movement than actual buffing or weight loss. If I can lose weight and/or buff up, fine, but for me the point here is to Move My Body.

Or, as my doctor put it, "Movement is Medicine."

Not... Completely Random

Bitmoji cartoon of a chubby woman
wearing a blue shirt, with her brunette/grey
hair up in a topknot, hands on hips, and looking
confused. There is a large blue question mark.

But mostly random.

Every time one of my kids sneezes, I remember to order a new batch of free Covid tests. And then, evidently, I start a blog post.

People are such asshats about things they don't understand. Why do they even care enough to comment? Why do they say things like "this ***** ***** ********* keeps showing up in my feed and I don't know why?" Why is because you keep engaging by posting comments like that one!

And why do they as a group not read hashtags stating clearly that something is actually a joke?

Yeah, yeah. #NotAllAsshats. Whatever.

I have been informed by my 15yo (the one who's sneezing and has an earache, triggering my order-new-tests impulse) that I shouldn't use GenZ slang, even when I'm using it correctly. And yet she objects when I say 'awesomesauce.' How is a GenXer meant to cope with this?

On the other hand, I used a word yesterday - ululate - that made said 15yo stare at me dumbfounded, demand a definition, and then roll her eyes and leave the room.

My knee is much better. I can walk without crutches as long as I wear the brace. Not for long, and not carrying much, but it's fine for moving around the house. I hope to get a letter from my doc to the doc my employer uses, saying that I'm compliant with treatments (high blood pressure and stuff) today, so I can then go to the work doc and be cleared to drive for another year. 

Though I'll probably have to start slow; a trip to the library and then to dinner at our local sushi place was more than enough action for the knee for one day.

The sushi place has a robot serving drinks. When something got in its way it stopped and a little tear appeared on its digital face. Lizzy squealed with such glee! Maybe that's why her ear aches. 

Nah, it's more likely hay fever or a slight cold plugging up the whole upper respiratory system. If it was a full-blown infection, she'd have a fever.

And it's not Covid, we checked, which is why I ordered more tests, and around it goes.

What a Pain

A person wrapped up in bandages
and on crutches, with the caption I'M OK.
The actual injury is much less

Not in the neck.

Not really in the ass, either, although my lower back is unhappy with me.

I blew out my left knee.

And then I went to work anyway because I'm stubborn like that.

So here's the timeline. My left knee and right hand/wrist have been a little stiff and sore when I wake up for months. I'm 54, so I assume that's arthritis, and the knee is worse than the hand because hands are not (generally) weight-bearing joints.

I have plenty of weight to bear.

No real problem, both hand and knee are usually fine by the time I get out of the shower, and the heated seats in my van don't hurt any, either.

On December 27th I got an Apple Watch (thanks, Dad!) for Christmas, and I get more than a little obsessed with closing those circles (aka meeting my Move, Stand, and Exercise goals). This is easier than I thought, but my muscles - being unaccustomed to this sort of use - are a bit achy most days. That's fine; it means the gamified exercise is doing what it is supposed to. And by January 27th (yes, a month later; I refuse to weigh myself all the time. For me, that way lies obsession and discouragement) I have dropped twelve pounds just by standing up when the watch tells me to.

On or around February 22nd my left knee starts to hurt rather more than other parts of me, so I ease off on some of the more standing-up activities. I also consult my mother (who is an old hand at knee injuries) and I decide that if it doesn't feel better by Saturday (the 25th), I'll go to urgent care.

I did not get that far.

In fact, I was walking (probably limping a little) out to my work vehicle. Annnnnd... there's a loud popping noise/sensation and then...

...then I'm stuck. Like I-can't-put-any-weight-at-all-on-my-left-leg stuck.

Well.

Now what do I do?

It's Midwinter Break and very few of us are working, so there's nobody handy. I could grab my phone and call in and ask for help, but I'm not convinced that I can stay upright while rummaging through my purse.

Did it occur to me to use my Apple Watch to call? I mean, all it takes is a 'Hey Siri." But no. It did not.

Luckily one of our very awesome mechanics poked his head out of the garage at this point and asked if I needed help.

Yes, please!

So he helped me to my own car (closer) which I then drove out to the lot where we keep the work vehicles, transferred myself from my own van to my work car, and worked my shift (again, Midwinter Break, so it's just the one student. Also, there is lots of ibuprofen now on board.)

Text from me: Uh, Mom? Yeah, I'm not waiting until Saturday to go to the doc, because the knee just went kablooey.

The reply was not something I should repeat here.

Anyway, I ran my route, came back, transferred back to my work vehicle, arranged a remote clock-out with Payroll (thanks, boss, for the idea; I was dreading trying to stagger to the punchclock), and went to urgent care.

Where I got stuck again.

A very nice person in the parking lot got the staff to grab a wheelchair for me.

I don't really want to relate the entire doctor visit; it was equal parts painful and boring, except for the very kind radiology tech, who gave me printouts of the x-rays for Mad Scientist Lizzy to peruse at her leisure. But I shall sum up: No damage visible in bones or cartilage; this is a soft-tissue injury. Torn or overstretched ligaments, probably the PCL(?) which as I understand it, is one of the ligaments behind the knee that holds the upper and lower leg bones together. Brace or Ace bandage, ice, elevation, rest, Naproxen Sodium. Crutches or other support aids.

For as long as it takes, which can be weeks and weeks with an injury of this type. Bleah.

I am annoyed, ouchie, and amused - because what a clusterf*ck - in pretty much equal parts. It'll be a long ride, but at least I've got helpful offspring and a sense of humor. 

Random thoughts in January 2023

• 

  Image description: a Bitmoji cartoon of me,
  a chubby, fair-skinned, green-eyed,
  brunette-with-gray person wearing blue winter clothing
  and smirking; the caption reads "challenge accepted!"

  I am very glad that my younger child's usual food craving is canned green beans. Note: get more canned green beans.

• I wish Apple had a way to put ActivitySharing notifications in their own folder. I love the kudos and well wishes, but it would be nice if I didn't have to scroll through them all to get at my regular texts, like hey-could-you-pick-up-some-milk and the like.

• And on that note, I yogaed too hard and too fast yesterday. I'm a little sore in spots. Nothing slower and more controlled yoga (plus ibuprofen and a hot shower) can't cure.

• I see that the apples and oranges comparisons are fast and furious this weekend.

• Inazuma is zappy. Piemon is still a menace. It made me feel anxious, so I went back to Liyue for the Lantern Festival.

• The voice actors and event themes in Genshin Impact amuse me. Yesterday's gameplay was all Mulan ("Let's get down to business") and My Hero Acadamia (in Bakugo's voice) and Tangled (floating lanterns).

• I called a cartoon character a brat yesterday. And it wasn't even Caillou. Or Junior.

• Or Piemon.

• I have paperwork to do today.

• And laundry.

• And assisting with Lizzy's Finals Week prep.

• And assisting Abby with her paperwork for school.

• That's... well, that's it. A day (off) in the life.

I Am Having a Day

Image description: a Bitmoji cartoon of me,
a chubby, fair-skinned, green-eyed, brunette-with-gray
 person wearing blue winter clothing
and looking uncomfortable, with the caption UGH.

Nothing bad, just One of Those Days™.

A Day when I hit every red light and ended up behind every school bus or garbage truck.

A Day when I don't feel ill, but I feel worn down.

A Day when I feel guilty for not being able to do All The Things™ even though I know better.

A Day when I feel guilty because my problems really aren't all that big a deal in the grand scheme of things or compared to others' problems... even though I know better there, too.

I loathe these kinds of days.

I've spoken before, both here and on Vocal, about how much I struggle with not being able to find a reason to point to regarding minor upticks in anxiety or depression or Those Days or whatever. I hate it. Hate being unable to find a solid trigger for this crappy mood.

I know it's irrational; sometimes moods just happen. I've said so myself, not too long ago. I mean, it doesn't have to have a solid, point-at-able trigger; it could have one I haven't registered consciously, like hormonal shifts or allergens in the air or last night's change in the weather. It probably does.

But I don't have to like it.

So there.