D2, D1, and D&D

D2 is out of the hospital.

I guess it was a productive visit, but he’s totally ruined his friendships with his little group from work. I wanna say I feel bad for him, but this is exactly where he was last year. The only difference is that he’d ruined his friendship with his roommate instead. They upgraded his diagnosis to BP1 and put him on Lithium. I hope it helps, but I still don’t feel any sympathy for it.

I don’t give myself permission to be sick. I don’t have the ability to spend three days in a psych ward and then take extended time off work to get myself together. I have to spread my crazy out over having mini breakdowns at home after work on my own god damn time. I just don’t understand people who can allow themselves to lose it… I can’t do that. I can’t live on disability. I can’t embarrass my family by going into a care facility. Maybe that’s a problem with me and how I’ve been trained to treat my mental illness, in the sense that I don’t allow myself to treat it like a real illness. It’s a thing, I deal with it, and I don’t let it effect my professional life even if it tears my personal life apart. (To be clear we don’t treat actual illness like illness either…. unless physically unable to, we still get up, go to work, and get through the flu or pneumonia or whatever on our own time.)

My foul mood doesn’t really end there. Yesterday I found out D1 is dating a rabbi, and that’s super cool, but it reminded me that I haven’t found anyone to even pretend I wanna go on a date with. So… I deleted my dating profile. As much as I love filling My Tumblr Blog with the stupid shit men like to send to me, it’s kind of depressing that I can’t even find a nice boy to go to dinner with. I’d pay for myself, btw… ain’t no freeloader looking for a free meal.

In my absence of a love life, or even a social life, I’m learning to play D&D, and even how to DM… because I have the time. I’m actually really excited. Cat, from work, said she’ll play with me, and we have some other people who might join later, too! I am looking forward to it… It’s definitely not easy to learn, though. There’s a lot of information to synthesize before creating a module, or even just a character.

So… that’s what’s going on in my life right now… not a lot, but I’m staying busy.

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Hospitalized

So David 2 is in the hospital.

I can’t say I’m surprised, and it’s probably where he needs to be right now. It’s been a weird week of him spiraling and me trying to keep a distance. It’s hard to pull out the pieces to figure out exactly what happened, but here’s what I know.

D2 has been Dx’d as BP-2 for a little over a year. Last year he was hospitalized when he tried to kill himself. As far as I know he was medicated and this was all just triggered by a minor fender bender.

First his car got hit by a street sweeper. I know this because he sent me the pictures, so it’s verifiable. He was bummed, but it was okay. I was told his car was in the shop and he was in a loaner, but his insurance doesn’t cover loaners, because he has the state bare minimum, which is liability only. He asked to borrow the Jeep, knowing I have two cars. I told him that it was going to be in the shop, because I didn’t really want to go into how my mother wouldn’t trust him to borrow our car for any reason.

So he told me that he got sent home from work on Friday, and I just told him to take the weekend to get his shit straight. I still wanted to keep a distance, but it seemed like the vaguest yet most helpful thing I could say. He also saw his shrink, who increased his meds.

Here’s where it gets hazy, and there’s obviously some overlapping lying, and I’m not sure what’s true or what’s not.

He told me Tuesday he hadn’t been to work since Friday, when he got sent home, because he didn’t have a car to get there and asked about the Jeep again. Again I told him something along the line of mom not wanting to lend out a vehicle that might die, even though there’s nothing wrong with my beloved Jeep. He didn’t really talk to me again.

Wednesday when I was home with food poisoning, he thanked me for checking with my mom on the Jeep and stuff. It felt like he was backtracking out of him being mad at me. I know that because it’s the kind of backtracking I do when I’m trying not to let someone know I just thought of them engulfed in flames, but I do it within a few minutes, not a day later. Anyways, he told me he’d been going to work all week, which is in obvious conflict with his previous statement. He also told me he hadn’t been home since Friday, but was staying at his friend’s house and living out of his car, that he’d told me he didn’t have.

I’m not one to call people on lies. I log the information, but I don’t really think it helps anything to call a person on lying.

So he got sent home again on… Thursday, I believe. He texted me about it. I honestly didn’t care. I have no idea how he affords to live with all this time he takes off. I know he’s got intermittent FMLA since his last breakdown, but still, you’d think he’d need the money? I dunno. Anyways, he was trying to get me to illicit some worry again, and I just told him he needed to call his parents or his sister, because someone should know he’s having a hard time. He assured me his mother was there with him. I don’t know if she was.

And then I didn’t hear from him until he left a voicemail on my phone from the hospital’s number telling me he was there. I don’t’ answer numbers I don’t know. For future reference I DID put the number in my contacts. Just in case.

This is just what happened as it was explained to me via text messages. Also mingled in there was his constant fighting with Spenser. One day they’re friends and hitting the gym together, the next he’s telling me about how he told his shrink that he’d spent time plotting Spenser’s death. I tried not to voice any opinions on that, since Spenser is part of the group of friends he procured at his job. I really wanted him to forget about me and just lean on them. Also, of the ones I’ve met, which are all of them I think, I don’t really like Spenser. He’s a burnout. More than that, he’s a burnout with a big mouth that wears Buddha beads. I dislike people that misrepresent things, and if there was ever a misrepresentation of Buddhism, you find it in Spenser.

So… I’m assuming he’s in for a 72 hour hold for suicide watch… and I’m not sure what will happen after that. I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s out again. I thought of going to see him, but I don’t think I will. I’m honestly still trying to drive a space between us. I don’t want him dead; I just don’t want him in my life anymore.

I’m sure that sounds harsh, but here’s the thing… I’ve been diagnosed as bipolar 1 for going on 12 years now, and I’ve figured out how to deal with myself. I’ve managed to never be hospitalized, though at times I probably should have been. I’ve managed to learn to live without medication, even though it gets REAL fucking hard. I’ve learned to survive, even though I’ve tried so many times to destroy myself. At the end of all that you tend to realize that you have to look out for yourself, because no one else is going to, and I already know D2 isn’t going to be there for me.

I already knew. I knew the night I got drugged at a show we were at together and he let an ambulance take me, alone, to a hospital. He didn’t go with me. He didn’t make efforts to try and contact anyone I knew to go see to me. He just let me go, and his defense was that I was in the care of the people that could help me. Now, he’s in the care of the people that can maybe help him, and I’m not going to go running. I know where we stand.


In other news, I’ve had a lovely weekend.

Mothership and I went to the farmer’s market yesterday and walked around. We were hoping the Halloween stuff would be up, but later found out that they’re throwing a whole month-long festival for Halloween in October, so it’s taking a while to put everything up. I bought stuff to make salsa, and we got Chipotle on the way home.

I watched THE NANNY (1965) while Mothership took a nap, and then I bought ice cream and headed over to Cat’s place.

I work with Cat, but we’re also casual friends. We might not be close, but we’re around for each other and we get along. At one point her gay bestie was dating D2, even. She had a hard week, because her dragon baby (which is what I call her iguana) got sick. Charlie was having seizures and she didn’t know why. She took him to the vet and they hoped it was a calcium deficiency, which can be a big problem for reptiles. They loaded him up with calcium and he’s been doing a lot better. She was also informed that he’s a pretty old domestic iguana, though. Apparently the vet said she’d never seen one live over 13 years, and Charlie is already 10. Captive iguanas have been recorded to live to be 20, but that’s in zoos, and that’s what kind of time Cat thought she had with him.

To top things off, Cat has a problem where her blood builds up too much iron and she has to go donate blood to keep her iron levels in check. So after being up all night with Charlie Thursday, and going to work Friday worried as fuck, she had to go get a bunch of her blood removed. It always wipes her out, and even though Charlie seems to be doing better I know she’s worried about him, so I offered to come over and distract her.

At the tender ages of 28 and 30, we’ve decided to learn to play Dungeons and Dragons. We played once when this guy I was seeing invited me to his Pathfinder group, and we really enjoyed the idea of it, even though we, as new comers, didn’t get to do much. So we both ordered Dungeons & Dragons for Dummies and Dungeon Master for Dummies and we’ve decided to learn the rules, and then just play. Since neither of our book sets have come yet, I went over and showed her the show Harmonquest.

If you’re unfamiliar, it’s a great show you can find on YouTube or VRV. Dan Harmon gathers together his ex-wife, comedian Jeff Davis, and his friend Spencer to play a version of D&D/Pathfinder. They have guest stars, too, who show up to play for one episode. It’s fun because they have animators go behind the roleplay and animate what they do. I thought it would be a nice introduction to what Cat and I’s D&D nights could be.

We honestly spent most of the time futzing with her computers, though. It was fun, and I brought ice cream, and yeah. It was just a good way to wind down the evening before getting that call from D2.

This morning I got up at 1030, because I could, and decided to write a blog entry so I didn’t have weird feelings about D2 anymore. Now I have to go poke around for what to cook for lunch. I plan on reading most of the day, and helping Mothership install a new light for her backyard. That’s about it, though. Maybe hit the grocery. I need dog food.

Happy Sunday.

IT’S BACK… I think?

Morning Time

The hardest part of my life is giving a fuck, especially on a Monday morning.

Part of me is really into the idea of running away from life and living in the woods as a crazy homeless person until I die of exposure or hunger… I mean at least I don’t have to spend time at a job I’ve grown to hate with people I’ve grown to resent. But the bigger part of me wants to care for my dogs and buy books… so here I am.

I mostly cleaned my room yesterday. You’d think that would make me feel accomplished or something, but all I could focus on was everything else I need to get done, everything that needs to be cleaned or purged or packed. Tonight I think I’ll go get some packing supplies and pack up my record player, vinyls, and all my electronics except my PS4. I also need to finish my room, or try anyways. Then I have some stuff to list for sale, and see if I can pull in any money. I’m just going to start packing everything up… it’s a little early for it, but why not. My stuff will either collect dusk being out, or it can collect dust in boxes. At least in boxes they’re ready to move whenever I’m ready for that.

At least if I get everything packed up I can paint the house and fix some things so that I pull some equity out of it when I go to move. Gotta paint everything white… put in some carpet on the stairs…

Afternoon Time

My mood is kind of all over, which is better than crippling depression ALL THE TIME. I seem the most down in the morning and when I get home from work. Mid day I’m a little manic, and late at night I get manic… so I guess I’m back to rapid cycling. At least it means that I get stuff done at work, but I also feel like this is kind of wasted since I work all day.

Like right now, I’d love to go to the gym, and then go home and sort things in the basement, haul some stuff out, box up stuff to keep, etc. I’m not sure I’d do that if I were actually at home, because the basement is where I hide all my emotional stuff, but right now I’m pretty upbeat and would like to do productive things. It’s unfortunate this will probably wear off before I even walk through my front door.

I really like electronica when I’m up. I have this playlist on Spotify that I’ve been defaulting to called Bleeps & Bloops, and it’s just weird cerebral electronica. I’ve also fallen into some dubstep recently, which is a thing I never thought I’d get into. Maybe I should go to a club… I could use a night out. I dunno what clubs play dubstep these days, though… Maybe I could research it. The problem is keeping the mood up into the evening enough to WANT to get there and have a good time, but I can deal with that later.

Maybe I’ll play video games tonight. I’d like to do that. Or maybe read. MAYBE I COULD DRAW. I dunno. I’m making big plans that I prolly won’t be able to keep, since this mood won’t last… Lol. But I dunno. When I’m up, I’m up. I wanna do EVERYTHING… I wish I was always up. Up is a nice place to be.

Anyways… Guess that’s all. OKIES BYE

I’m Not Okay

::queue song::

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRFhNZNu_xw

Okay so the song doesn’t really relate… but I’m NOT okay.

I AM NOT OKAY AND I AM TIRED OF NEVER FEELING OKAY AND I WOULD GIVE USE OF MY LEGS TO FEEL OKAY FOR JUST A FUCKING MINUTE.

I’m tired and irritable and I want to scream and throw shit and hurt people. There’s a PC that’s been sitting on my desk at work, and if I had less control of myself I’d take it and go beat a coworker to death with it. I don’t even care which coworker… but I’d beat their skull in with a PC.

I just want to hurt people. I want people to hurt because I hurt and there’s no wound to blame it on. It’s just fucked up emotional turmoil that no one understands or cares about, and it’s got me all fucked up.

Why?

Because this is my life. This is going to be life until such a time as my life ends. This isn’t “the summer I was kinda sad” or some little pothole in the generally good life that is mine. This is my severe mental illness that never goes away, and never gets noticeably better, and will never have a fucking cure. I’m just damned to go through the rest of life feeling hopeless and shitty and impulsively getting drunk so I don’t feel hopeless and shitty for a couple of hours.

Friday I got my bangles back from fuccboi. I call him that, because that’s what I see him as now. He was nice enough, to be honest. We had a couple drinks and I invited him to the gig I was going to, because after three Saisons I was bored and I didn’t care if he tagged along, so long as I didn’t have to bring him back to that side of town. He agreed to cab/Uber/Lyft home. I invited Bird. I got drunk. It was great. 130 came and I went home, and reminded fuccboi I wasn’t taking him home. Somehow he managed to get a ride from Bird… and good for her, being a better person than me, but I was manic and drunk and I don’t give a fuck.

Saturday and Sunday all I did was sit high out of my mind and binge watch Adam Ruins Everything. It’s weird, because I actually felt pretty good when I got up on Saturday, but I still couldn’t DO anything. I sat there for two days, binge eating, and only left the house to go to a movie with mom, where I also ate. I felt like a worthless piece of shit on Sunday evening… and I was correct about that.

All the shit I want to do, all the goals I have for the next year, and all I could fucking do was nothing this weekend.

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes you deserve to do nothing. Nothing can be great… this was not great. I could have cleaned up the backyard, done something in the basement, folded the rest of my clothes, mopped, vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, LITERALLY ANYTHING, but no…

I got up this morning and decided this has GOT to end. It sounds motivational, but mostly I’m just pissed off at myself. I’m officially so fat I am sometimes out of breath just trying to wipe my ass. That’s not an exaggeration, that’s the reality of my body trying to maneuver all this fat around so I can reach and most of it cramming into my chest cavity against my diaphragm. That’s too fat. It’s official. It’s too fat. And this weekend? Too much wasted time. Fucking wasted all that time that I could have done something with. And it’s gotta stop, because if it doesn’t stop I have no reason to live.

I talk about suicide a lot. Do you know why? Because I think about suicide a lot. My life is already so fucking meaningless that the only reasons I’m still around is so my mom doesn’t kill HERself, and because I have dogs that I don’t want going back to shelter care. I’m not here because life has meaning, or because life is secretly beautiful, or anything so wonderful as that. I’m here because dying is inconvenient at the moment, but if I’m just going to give up why let my mom watch as I slowly kill myself with food and depression, I could save us both a tortured journey to my grave.

I weighed 288.8 this morning. That’s officially the fattest I’ve ever been in my entire life. I literally didn’t move this weekend. That’s officially the laziest I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m turning into my grandmother. I just need to get on disability and be addicted to daytime court shows. I can die in my chair, suffocating on my own neck fat. That’s not how she died, but it’s the image I have of her burned into my brain from childhood… just drinking coffee and falling asleep with a lit cigarette in her hand. I loved my grandmother, but I never want to be that. If I’m going to be that, I’d rather be dead.

So if my life is going to be me, not being emotionally okay ever again, I might as well torture myself down to normal people sizes. I’d settle for a Torrid zero, which is a large… a size 12… It’s not the 130 lbs I’ve always wanted to be… but it’s a lot fucking better than here. It’s 3 dress sizes… it’s a lot… but honestly… it’s not like I’m doing anything better with my time, am I?

A Double Post Kinda Day – Still Blue

What am I doing?!

I don’t know, but I keep texting him anyways. It’s not like I’m in love, or even lust, but I keep texting him. I guess I’m lonely. It’s not as though I have anyone to generally talk to about being sad. A stranger can chat without prying. I can talk to a stranger without thinking about anything important. It’s a nice escape from everything, I guess.

I suppose some people talk to their friends, but even with the small group of friends I keep I can’t imagine bothering them with my emotional turmoil. I mean, what do they care?

Most don’t: that’s the short answer. Having been removed from my immediate life for long enough, I have tried reaching out to my friend in California, but unsurprisingly he’s not really interested in it. I’m not sure why it’s surprising, as I’ve always felt him a touch self-absorbed anyway, but it hurts nonetheless. I tried telling a friend in Maine, because she’s another person I needn’t look in the eye when I spout my emotionally fucked bullshit, but while she’s concerned she isn’t really sure how to handle it. She just tries to reassure me, which is about as effective as it sounds reassuring a crazy person would be. Ha.

I have not tried to talk to my local friends, or my best friend in Oregon, about my meds or how I’m feeling. At my lowest I made it known to Bird that I was struggling, but I can’t imagine actually trying to explain a bipolar thought pattern to her. I considered trying to tell my bipolar friend, but he’s also very self-absorbed. He doesn’t even really do a good job at pretending to care about others; he’s just hellbent on trying to feel like a person again. I can’t really blame him for that… it’s hard the first time you lose yourself.

I could never REALLY talk to the Mothership about my bipolar. She understands depression, but only to the point she’s managed to build her own little barricade of coping mechanisms. So if I’m too depressed to get out of bed, that’s beyond her realm of understanding… so I, too, get out of bed and trudge on into the day, knowing that as soon as I walk through my front door I’m allowed to hit the floor and not move again until the next morning if I have to… and I have. No, my darling mother has major depression, not bipolar, so she doesn’t get mania. She doesn’t have highs that come in waves of feeling powerful, vengeful, or even happy. She doesn’t know what it feels like to think yourself invincible. She just knows the blue… the malaise… the ongoing sea of endless nothing. At least she sort of gets half of it, I guess. When I want to cry but have no reasons, she gets that… and she worries about all those depression-y things that crop up from time to time.

Knowing kinda half the story isn’t enough to understand, though. I can’t explain to her why mania is a problem or the complicated dance the two weave across the dance floor of my personality. I can’t explain why I do some things, or what it’s REALLY like to hear a voice you’re aware is all in your head. I can’t explain to her everything I’ve done under the influence of one episode or another. I can’t explain why there’s so shame behind my eyes and why certain innocuous things seem to hurt me. No, it’s not enough to know the half-truth of a disease and what ways it can eat at a heart.

So I keep texting him, even though I’ve already told him we shouldn’t see each other romantically. I hold my breath each time the phone buzzes, hoping it’s the nice young man that barely knows me. We don’t talk about my bipolar, or depression, or mania, or the voices, or how sometimes I think I’d rather die than have to get out of bed. I don’t feel the urge to tell him I’m struggling, or that going home at the end of a long work day is awful because there are little living things there relying on me to care for them. I don’t feel like I have to confess. It’s just small talk… How was your day? Did you see that film? What time are you free for a drink on Saturday? It’s nothing important. It’s nothing that hurts.

I don’t love him or lust for him… I don’t ache for him, and I definitely don’t want to be in his bed or his arms… but it’s just nice to fill the time with bullshit, I guess. When real life is so hard, the meaningless becomes quite pleasant.

I’m Back To Blue

I cancelled my shrink appointment in October, so I’m definitely on my own for mood management again. I hate the med trials, and the very nonchalant way shrinks are just like,

“You have to try shit till it works… that’s all we can do.”

Why is that all they can do? If I have a lung infection they don’t give me random meds until something works. They isolated the likely cause of of lung infections and prescribe antibiotics accordingly. So if I’m having symptoms, why can’t they take those symptoms and give me the BEST option for the most likely culprit of my symptoms?

I’m sad.
You’re bipolar.

Maybe, but I’m only worried about the sad?

We’re gonna treat the mania.

I don’t care about the mania.
Nah, we’re gonna treat the mania.

Will that help the sad?

In theory it might. If not, we’ll add more meds later.

I don’t want more meds. Can we just treat the sad?

No, we’re going to treat the mania and later we can treat the sad.

BUT I’M NOT WORRIED ABOUT THE MANIA!!! I JUST DON’T WANT TO BE SAD ANYMORE GOD DAMN IT! WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME?!

This is why we have to treat the mania… you’re irritable.

Literally my experience with the psychiatric community.

I sometimes worry about my future, as the only thing I can predict about it is that I’ll think about suicide. I already do that a lot, so it’s not a far fetched idea to think that will persist. I worry about reaching a place where I’m in between pets, mom has died, and I feel alone… cuz that’s when it could definitely happen. I don’t have a resilient force of will with suicide, it’s just always been inconvenient. If it were suddenly less inconvenient, I’m not sure what I’d do. I only tried the once as a teenager, and that was a complete failure I never tried to repeat again.

I dunno. I just feel hopeless about everything. I wanna move us to Oregon for a change of scenery, but I have no reason to think that will improve my depression. I’ll just be depressed around a lot of trees instead of in the ‘burbs of Denver. It’s worth a shot, I guess. It’s got Mothership motivated to try and get shit done, at least. A light at the end of the tunnel… just hope it’s not a train.

Aside from being really tired and crying in the bathroom at work, I seem pretty normal, though. I’m even supposed to go see that guy again on Saturday to get my bangles back from him. He’s really nice. I’m still sad that isn’t gonna work out. I don’t really think that subjecting a normal human being to my bipolar sociopathic ass is really good for either of us, though. People like me are what Lifetime movies are trying to warn you about.

Randomly, I keep thinking about my ex… the one I’d like to drag into the street an beat to death before setting his body on fire… I’m not sure why. It’s been almost 8 years since the breakup, and I’ve ever dated since then, but I can’t let it go. I still wanna hurt him. I guess that’s from the lack of meds. All the emotions that swirl underneath my calm demeanor are bubbling over cuz they can. It’s just a random thing to feel so angry about this much time later. Some hurts never go away, I guess….

Anyways, I’m depressed…. but I think it’s okay right now.

I’m gonna try to start hitting the gym… I hate the gym, but I do sleep better if I can get all the rage out… and I’d like to lose some weight if that’s possible (like a whole person worth of weight, tbh).

Lying to Mental Healthcare Professionals

Friday sucked. Actually the whole week sucked. I started the week with weird dreams. That progressed into NO SLEEP Tuesday and Wednesday night. I had to take a literal mental health day on Thursday because I was losing it, and on top of not sleeping I’d spent all week trying to cleanup a schedule that should have been clean. It was genuinely frustrating.

I spend Thursday in bed, and then when the house got too hot to sleep I went to buy shit to make cookies. I don’t bake, but I wanted to make cookies. I made four batches total, two of which were totally inedible because they were overwhelmingly gross and salty, one was fine but dry, and one was legit good. I was kind of listless. I don’t know why I wanted to make cookies. I didn’t want to eat them; I had two cookies from the okay batches and gave the rest to mothership. I just liked making them. I can’t really tell you why.

DrugItem_537

I’d been suffering through the side effects of my Abilify. The worst were the hot flashes. I would get REALLY hot, which I’m always kind of hot anyways, and then dizzy and nauseous, and it was just flat out sucked. I’m 28; I didn’t need to get a preview of menopause. So Friday night I debated taking my pill because I was going out. I ended up taking it, because I’m responsible, but I then ended up sweating to the point my friend was concerned for my health and took me home. Let’s not mention that I spent two hours picking an outfit and trying to look cute, or how my makeup melted off my face, or how when I got home I was so disappointed that I cried and went straight to bed.

I emailed my pdoc the next morning, but because it’s Kaiser, she didn’t get back to me till today. In the time between the two events I’ve quit cold turkey… but I didn’t tell her that. It was on accident, really, because Saturday night I went to David’s for an anime night, and forgot to take it before I left. I wasn’t about to take it the next morning… I have played that game and it was too terrible. So, I forgot. Then Sunday was such a good day for me, I just decided not to take it anymore. My pdoc doesn’t know that… I told her I wouldn’t tamper with my meds until I heard from her, but…. I’m tampering.

Saturday was a nice day, though. Mom and I started by taking the dogs to the vet. I was still visibly sad about the night before, but I tried to be in a good mood. The chihuahuas, Bdo & Guy, did great, except that Guy is overweight. Afterwards we took some time apart, and then went to get mani-pedis. It was nice. I got a weird beetle green. And to wrap up mom-time we went to a seafood place and got fried seafood plates.

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That evening I went to D2’s for an anime night. I subjected him to Paprika and Metropolis while we ate $60 worth of sushi (because stoners and fat kids like sushi). It was a lot of fun. We’re having a follow up night on Friday to watch Howl’s Moving Castle and Wizards, which isn’t really anime, but I consider it honorary anime. Bird was supposed to come, but I guess she got wrapped up with other things that feel through, and she essentially slept through it all.

Sunday morning I got up, dressed like a Time Lord and went to the Renaissance Festival with my mom. We stopped at a hat shop, and I finished off my Time Lady look with a nice hat and a flower-tie thing. I wanna make those now… I need to hit Goodwill. And figure out where to buy a sewing kit… We had a lovely day at RenFest and walked until we both thought we were gonna drop.

On the way home we hit the grocery, and I spent the rest of the day not standing.

It turned into a good weekend… but it’s been a trial… not gonna lie.