Like falling on your ass in a puddle
I'm moderately frustrated today, I confess, mostly due to the fact that the internet is being horribly cruel to me. Who knew it would be so difficult to find a gyno with a sub-specialty in endocrinology?
That's a trick question, of course. The fact is, there are reproductive endocrinologists, but that ridiculously long title is code for "infertility specialist." Now, I'm not looking to become fertile or to get IFV or any of the other assortment of bizarre procedures these poor couples pay for in their quest to get pregnant. I just want to get an annual check-up and figure out something new about my hormonal situation.
It's all because of my ass. See, in medical speak, I have a unique body shape because technically, for as heavy as a am, I should be more flubby around the middle. But alas, God blessed me with lots of hormones that give me a GIANT ass, a small waist and nice tits. All in all, not so bad. Of course, that's not what my shrink thinks.
Although he hasn't shown his whole hand on the issue, I'm thinking that he thinks that a hormonal imbalance may account for my weight gain with lithium (hurray for 30 xtra pounds before ya get married!), and possibly, for some of my sleepiness and mood swings. This naturally makes me want to punch him in the head after eating a bar of chocolate.
At any rate, life has been a bit trying as of late. I suppose everyone goes through periods in their lives that aren't the best and we just have to get through em to find more happiness.
In my case, I really think I should hook up with a sleep clinic and get paid to be a specimen for them. Considering provigil made me even more sleepy and 54 mg of concerta might as well have been a warm glass of milk, I think I'd make a fabulous specimen. I can sleep any time, day or night. I can sleep 18 out of 24 hours in a day upon request.
I'm telling you, being a sleep study subject is my calling. I know I wouldn't be chosen to be in a study like that because of all of the drugs that I take, but dude, I still think that science is missing out on a fabulous opportunity to study "the great sleeping Becky."
I think part of my current urge to doze is caused by the slight, but cold draft coming from the wall of windows behind my desk. It's cold in here, but it's warm under the covers, surrounded by purring kittens and a sleepy Brendan. Ahhh. Could heaven possibly be any better than that?
I suppose another part of my sleep craving is brought about by my hovering mental malaise as of late. Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed in a "i wanna kill myself" way; nope, I'm depressed in a "everything sucks" kind of way. Brendan can attest to this next thing.
When I get bummed out like this for an extended period, I'll make that superhuman effort to life myself out of the clouds so I can see and feel all the happiness in the world before I bounce back down to life. It's almost like jumping on one of those netted trampolines; if you picture the net as a black wall and yourself as a jumping little kid, if you put enough energy into it, you'll be able to see over the top of the wall for a second, glimpsing the beauty you'll see when the walls come down.
Naturally, after seeing the beauty of it call, the absence of beauty feels all the more painful. This generates the mourning response which typically manifests itself as me crying on Brendan that I'm lonely and I hate South Bend. This self indulgent whining generally subsides after about a half an hour, at which time I tend to sleep because everything will be better after I wake up.
Man, I need a nap.
|
That's a trick question, of course. The fact is, there are reproductive endocrinologists, but that ridiculously long title is code for "infertility specialist." Now, I'm not looking to become fertile or to get IFV or any of the other assortment of bizarre procedures these poor couples pay for in their quest to get pregnant. I just want to get an annual check-up and figure out something new about my hormonal situation.
It's all because of my ass. See, in medical speak, I have a unique body shape because technically, for as heavy as a am, I should be more flubby around the middle. But alas, God blessed me with lots of hormones that give me a GIANT ass, a small waist and nice tits. All in all, not so bad. Of course, that's not what my shrink thinks.
Although he hasn't shown his whole hand on the issue, I'm thinking that he thinks that a hormonal imbalance may account for my weight gain with lithium (hurray for 30 xtra pounds before ya get married!), and possibly, for some of my sleepiness and mood swings. This naturally makes me want to punch him in the head after eating a bar of chocolate.
At any rate, life has been a bit trying as of late. I suppose everyone goes through periods in their lives that aren't the best and we just have to get through em to find more happiness.
In my case, I really think I should hook up with a sleep clinic and get paid to be a specimen for them. Considering provigil made me even more sleepy and 54 mg of concerta might as well have been a warm glass of milk, I think I'd make a fabulous specimen. I can sleep any time, day or night. I can sleep 18 out of 24 hours in a day upon request.
I'm telling you, being a sleep study subject is my calling. I know I wouldn't be chosen to be in a study like that because of all of the drugs that I take, but dude, I still think that science is missing out on a fabulous opportunity to study "the great sleeping Becky."
I think part of my current urge to doze is caused by the slight, but cold draft coming from the wall of windows behind my desk. It's cold in here, but it's warm under the covers, surrounded by purring kittens and a sleepy Brendan. Ahhh. Could heaven possibly be any better than that?
I suppose another part of my sleep craving is brought about by my hovering mental malaise as of late. Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed in a "i wanna kill myself" way; nope, I'm depressed in a "everything sucks" kind of way. Brendan can attest to this next thing.
When I get bummed out like this for an extended period, I'll make that superhuman effort to life myself out of the clouds so I can see and feel all the happiness in the world before I bounce back down to life. It's almost like jumping on one of those netted trampolines; if you picture the net as a black wall and yourself as a jumping little kid, if you put enough energy into it, you'll be able to see over the top of the wall for a second, glimpsing the beauty you'll see when the walls come down.
Naturally, after seeing the beauty of it call, the absence of beauty feels all the more painful. This generates the mourning response which typically manifests itself as me crying on Brendan that I'm lonely and I hate South Bend. This self indulgent whining generally subsides after about a half an hour, at which time I tend to sleep because everything will be better after I wake up.
Man, I need a nap.
|
posted by Becky at 12:10 AM
<< Home