Ever On

I took that picture of rain over the Jemez mountains on our train ride home. I just wanted you all to see it.

So I'm home. The last two days have been doctor days. One to see the urologist, one to see a nurse practitioner, one to see the radiologist. Everything's fine though. Perfectly so.

Scary-type doctor-y equipment in a darkened room. My favorite.

General update-y stuff:

I've been painting lots these days, watercolors mainly this time around (but with some Inktense painting thrown in there, too). I'm loving it.

And Dave and I went to see different movies with Paul and Judi this past Monday. Dave and Paul went to see the new Star Trek movie and Judi and I went to see Florence Foster Jenkins, which was marvelous. I think Hugh Grant is a tremendous actor (though his personal life suggests that he is an utter bastard in real life) and he and Meryl Streep are beyond wonderful together in this movie.

And my new diet is going well. I've dropped about eight pounds. (Some of it is from actual effort, some of it from the Wellbutrin killing my appetite.)

Doesn't help that the brand-new, dull-witted medical assistant in the doctor's office who took my vitals day before yesterday added thirty pounds to my weight when she recorded it (which I didn't catch until later when I was looking over my paperwork at home. In fact, all my vitals--including my blood pressure, which is chronically high, not the 120/70 that the textbooks tell you is perfect--were perfect textbook values (except my weight, obviously), which happens when brand new medical assistants clearly don't know what they're doing. I mean, she was nice enough, but...sigh.

 I had a doctor once argue with me that her medical assistant (another 120/70 blood pressure taker) was obviously correct, I mean, why wouldn't she know how to take a blood pressure reading? Then she took my blood pressure and it was high and she shut up real quick. Of course, that doctor turned out to be the shittiest doctor I've ever seen in my life, so it would make sense that her medical assistants were inept, but...ugh. I'm sick of talking about doctors right now. I had a rough run of doctor-filled days and I'm just blowing off that energy.)

Yesterday I came home after my morning doctor's appointment and just got back into my pajamas and then back into bed to sleep off the stress. Then I got up and painted awhile. Then I started dinner. Dave came home and I stopped dinner so we could run off to Target. Then we came home and finished dinner. I made whole wheat spaghetti with a quick cherry tomato sauce and Parmesan cheese for Dave (I'm not allowed to have tomatoes and I prefer not to have pasta on this diet) and spaghetti squash topped with caramelized onions, peas, and Parmesan for myself. I also had a big salad and a few bites of spaghetti just because I miss pasta. There were enough leftovers for Dave to have two pasta lunches (one today, one tomorrow) to look forward to, lucky him.

Now I'm talking about food, I guess.

I've been reading several books these days, jumping from one to the other and back. I've almost finished the book about Laura Ingalls Wilder's life as a writer, and I'm also reading two Maryann Williamson books, and I just added a book about trauma and PTSD.

The fight goes ever on.