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I’m still coughing like a motherfucker. One of the joys of asthma: when I get a cough, it moves in. I was keeping Jess awake, and it wasn’t like I was sleeping with all the hacking, so I got up.
Now I’m sitting here drinking my coffee (Dunkin Donuts creamer, never leave me) and trying to find something interesting on the internet.
I may have to venture to the store today. I’d like to cook out on the grill, and I have no charcoal. Not sure how good the smoke will be for my lungs, but that’s what inhalers are for. If I don’t do something, I’ll go stir crazy.
I’m waiting for my next psych med to arrive by mail. We’re trying an old fashioned SSRI, to see if that does anything for me. Unfortunately, I’m out of latest and greatest meds to try. Latuda made me bitchy and short tempered, Trintellix stopped working. I just want something to work enough that I can write again. It doesn’t even have to be a lot of writing, but I always identified myself as a writer, and I don’t feel like I can do that right now. Even writing these blog posts is difficult.
What else? Still worried about COVID-19. The flu was enough to knock me out for a few days, and presumably hat was a mild case, since I had the vaccine. We’re doing what we can, though, and hopefully the precautions will be enough.
Dad’s been moved to rehab, and seems unhappy. We’re not allowed to visit right now, so we’ve been getting a lot of calls. He can’t come home until he builds up some strength, because we don’t have the strength to lift him if he falls. It’s kind of a shitshow all around. Of course, I feel guilty that he’s stuck with only phone contact as is right and proper.
That’s about it from casa beanside.
Now I’m sitting here drinking my coffee (Dunkin Donuts creamer, never leave me) and trying to find something interesting on the internet.
I may have to venture to the store today. I’d like to cook out on the grill, and I have no charcoal. Not sure how good the smoke will be for my lungs, but that’s what inhalers are for. If I don’t do something, I’ll go stir crazy.
I’m waiting for my next psych med to arrive by mail. We’re trying an old fashioned SSRI, to see if that does anything for me. Unfortunately, I’m out of latest and greatest meds to try. Latuda made me bitchy and short tempered, Trintellix stopped working. I just want something to work enough that I can write again. It doesn’t even have to be a lot of writing, but I always identified myself as a writer, and I don’t feel like I can do that right now. Even writing these blog posts is difficult.
What else? Still worried about COVID-19. The flu was enough to knock me out for a few days, and presumably hat was a mild case, since I had the vaccine. We’re doing what we can, though, and hopefully the precautions will be enough.
Dad’s been moved to rehab, and seems unhappy. We’re not allowed to visit right now, so we’ve been getting a lot of calls. He can’t come home until he builds up some strength, because we don’t have the strength to lift him if he falls. It’s kind of a shitshow all around. Of course, I feel guilty that he’s stuck with only phone contact as is right and proper.
That’s about it from casa beanside.
