MeanDean is asking for fireworks stories so here’s mine:

When I was in 4th grade, a friend of ours brought us back some fireworks from Tennessee. In the package were all these types that weren’t allowed in California and we took turns setting them off on our (very well-saturated) lawn. The first time we lit a firecracker, we forgot to make sure that the cats were in the house and my mom’s cantankerous crimson cat Bessie decided to play with the firecracker. We were trying to figure out how to get her out of the way before it exploded and thankfully, her little paw batted out the fuse completely so we didn’t end up with an exploded cat. From that point forward, we *ALWAYS* made sure to sequester the cats.

I haven’t been posting a whole lot lately because I’ve been sick and I’m trying to make myself into a morning person so that getting up at 6:30 am on Sunday for church isn’t as much of a pain. I’ve been getting up and doing devotions and then going out walking for an hour. My walks have been a really good thing — they keep me fit in the midst of church dinners and parishioners who pick me up off the street and offer me chocolate. The only downside: I get everything accomplished by noon and then have 10 hours to fill before I head to bed.

My neck is still being problematic. I ended up taking some muscle relaxers this afternoon and took a nap with my most beautiful black panther on top of me purring. (Edda is such an excellent cat.) Jon woke me up to go to a VFW baseball game (several of my Vikings — I mean confirmands — play for the team) and I ended up leaving after the second inning because I was feeling so dizzy and tired from my meds. It’s also 81F outside and the heat was intensifying the effects so I’m glad I walked home to my nice air-conditioned parsonage.

I’ve been re-reading Reviving Ophelia and it’s interesting to read about what Pipher has to say about a lot of the things I dealt with in high school. Apparently, I’m one of the few who survived a torturous adolescence with my identity and personality somewhat in-tact. Granted, I ended up with wicked depression and PTSD in college and was on meds/in therapy for two years dealing with it; but things could have been so much worse for me. It makes my current situation seem like a cake walk.

I woke up this morning with bad lower abdominal pain and my three mile walk made it worse. I then tried eating and got through about three spoonfuls of oatmeal and one sip of juice before the nausea hit. I called the clinic and got in right away. It’s something minor and I have antibiotics to deal with it (just would rather not say what it is) but I’m still nauseous. My father-in-law is with us right now and he took us out to lunch to entice me to eat. I did eat and am regretting it as I’ve spent the last 6 hours in bed. My antibiotic is making me feel sicker than I actually am and food in any form is very yucky to me. Since I’m barely able to sit up without feeling like vomiting right now, let me just announce that posts are going to be a bit scarce for the next couple days.

Could y’all also lift up some high holy hands of prayer on my behalf? I commented to my P.A. that I’m seeing a whole lot more of him than I’d like to.

I bit the bullet and went to see my P.A. today. It was actually pretty painless and it wasn’t like any of this was a surprise to him. (It actually wouldn’t be a surprise to most who know me.) He put me on Lexapro and we’re going to see how I do on it. Apparently, it causes the least amount of side effects, something that’s pretty good as it saves me a lot of bloodwork (something they had to do when I was on Serzone).

I actually feel pretty relieved that there might be something that can be done so that I’m not lying in bed twitching because I’m so worried about things. I also think Jon will appreciate not being woken up at 5 am on Sunday morning to deal with me when I’m at my worst.