I've been freaked out for a month, missing something reasonably important. I was pretty sure that without this one thing, I was stuck, unable to move forward with something that ought to be fairly timely. I can't find the notes I took for one of the Rotary meetings, and without them, I can't put out that week's newsletter. I'm losing my mind, wondering where the one specific notebook where I kept them could have gone. They vanished when I did a deep clean of my house, because the person who is in charge of the youth exchange program was coming over to take a look at my home, to take pictures, and send back to Rotary International (or so I assume), to go with my application to host our exchange student for the last two months she is here. I got the house clean enough that I felt comfortable having pictures taken. But that notebook has not been seen since. My skin feels clammy and my blood has that made-of-needles feeling whenever I think about it, and I have been emotionally stuck and scattered ever since I lost the book. I let myself get three full weeks behind before I admitted it out loud to the person who ran the newsletter before me, but I'm not sure she understood the extent of what I was copping to. I got tired of getting nauseated and anxious every time I looked at my laptop or the easily located set of notes for the next week in the sequence, and tonight, I buckled down and made a command decision. I skipped the missing set, and put out the next two weeks' worth of newletters, one after another tonight. I don't have last weeks notes yet from the editarian for that week, but I also tendered my resignation as the PR person, subject to them finding a replacement. I'm not sure they will send me the notes for last week anyway.
I feel bad that I failed at this, but I failed because I started feeling bad. It became a huge source of anxiety and stress, which for me manifested as actual physical pain and a higher frequency of sick days. I was reluctant to take a time-sensitive, recurring-weekly sort of job when they pitched it to me, but I thought I could handle it. That was before the diagnosis of skin cancer, and before I understood that I was having non-stop migraine aura without the actual headaches (which came back with a vengeance at Thanksgiving). Too many things came down on me at once. I had to face facts and turn over control to someone else. In a 12 step program, that would have meant give over to a higher power. Well, I'm considering this a 12 step for my volunteering addiction, and the higher power this time is the executive board who have to recruit someone new. (For the record, I have already noticed there's a brokerage-sponsored volunteer project scheduled for this Wednesday, which I hope I can survive, if I've lightened the load elsewhere.)
I think I learned several somethings important about the new medication I've been on. I haven't been getting the pain relief I had been led to expect, but that may be due to a couple of factors. One, I haven't been on it long, and two, I don't take the full dose of it yet. I talked to the pharmacist last week about who has the power to ask my doc to ramp up the dose sooner to where she wanted to start me out. (She said we both can try it, and I pointed out she is far more likely to be willing to make that phone call than I.) Second, I am terrible about getting my pills taken on time. It's supposed to be swallowed at 9 pm, and the general idea is that everyone's circadian rhythm puts the brain into a similar state overnight, even if you work a night shift. Me, I am lucky if I remember to swallow pills before 10, and it's often later than that. On the occasions when I get the pills on time, I wake with slightly less pain in my feet the next morning. I also fall asleep faster (but then, on those nights I usually blog earlier too, so that figures in). If I get better about carrying my pills with me when we go play games or go out at night, I can set an alarm, and maybe see some progress again. It gave me hope and then I ruined the reliability. It's a skill I have, failing at schedules.
(Harvey ran up and shoved himself under Rabbit's chin. I'd like to say she accepted the cuddles willingly, but there were ensuing disagreements. Harvey insisted that my ankles are his spot, and he stood his ground. Or laid on it, anyway.)
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