a typical girl

self pics july 2013, a photo by Digital Heather on Flickr.

In case there was any doubt... I really am a typical girl. I take pictures of myself and then over-edit them in instagram. I haven't done it in awhile though and felt compelled to share because I felt pretty today. Also, a lot of my "recent" pics are old. My hair is so long compared to last summer when it was boy short. Is it just me or do these pics look like ads for Ray Bans? Tell me about it. :)

pretty makeovers

crafting cans, a photo by Digital Heather on Flickr.

I've been pretty motivated to finish my office. I started painting a bookcase with chalk paint and gave some cans pretty makeovers. We actually rarely have cans like this to use. We do fresh fruits and veggies instead of canned (but I'm a sucker for that peach syrup). I'm gonna grab a few more at the store next time specifically for this. Whatever food happens to be in the can is just a bonus.

time passes

little and big Bowie, a photo by Digital Heather on Flickr.

I came across a memory card from 2008 with pictures of Bowie on it. We had just gotten her as a puppy. I don't remember her having the black around her eyes but I guess she did. She still has the three white shapes between her eyes, which we always called her "saguaro." The pic on the right is a recent one. She steels my spot when I get up to go the bathroom or get a drink during the night.

Cleaning my office is like cleaning my bedroom as a kid. I pick something up and look at it or read it and time passes and nothing gets done. It'll happen.

I'm ready to do something awesome that I couldn't do if I was still pregnant. Like get my nose pierced or go to Disneyland.

not 15 anymore

cold birthday candles, a photo by Digital Heather on Flickr.

My birthday is in one week. That means I have 7 days left to organize my office. But more importantly, it means I'm not buying candles for my cake this year. I told my husband that instead of buying candles, we're just going to use whatever neon candles are leftover in the frig from my birthday last year (or two years ago) -- no matter how many that might be. I counted today and there are 15. So I'm going to be 15 again. Yay.

I didn't think I would, but I'm starting to get bummed out a bit. My husband and I are the same age but his birthday is 6 months before mine. Half of the year he's older (kind of) and the rest of the year we're the same age (kind of). It's not complicated but I'm probably complicating it and I'm sure I explain this every year. I just enjoy that my husband and I share our birth year. It's like we grew up together in so many ways even though we didn't meet until we were 20.

Okay so back to getting bummed out. Every year, every January I should say, my husband gets bummed out about his birthday and getting older. I tell him to knock it off and stop being a baby. He says he looks old. I tell him he looks hot. Same thing every year. Then come summer time when it's my turn, I get a little bummed out at the taste of the same medicine. So here we are. Although I don't think I look old. I feel old, but that's another story. I'm mostly happy with how I look for my age. I want to lose a few pounds but other than that I'm pleased. No one ever thinks I'm as old as I am. I get mistaken for a teenager at least once a week. It's going to be awesome when I'm 60. I'm pretty sure I've said that exact line in this blog every year for a birthday post or pre-birthday post like this. Ugh.

I hate feeling old. My body has not been kind. Genetics have not been kind. But all of that aside I just hate memories that make me feel old. This is probably going to sound dumb. I recently saw pictures online of Trent Reznor and Marilyn Manson. The first has gotten fat while the latter just looks so old. It's sad. It hurts me to say it, but it's the truth. And if they're old, then so am I. And while I may only have 15 candles on my cake this year, I'm certainly not 15 anymore.

This is life.

hydrocodone, a photo by Digital Heather on Flickr.

I take back what I said about this being easy.

Last night was especially horrible. I'm trying to deal with the pain without taking medicine, if I can. I try to just sleep it off or occupy my mind but it's difficult. I even pulled out my sewing machine for the first time since 2009. I don't understand but it's like a stronger, delayed pain. My surgery was five days ago. Maybe my endo coming back from the dead for revenge-- who knows.

These pills look different with their polka spots, but I know them. The dots make them appear almost dessert-like. Actually they look like breath mints. I over-dosed on these, or their non-spotted cousins earlier this year. So it feels strange taking them. Granted, that time I took 50, but still. They also gave me zofran, another drug from my overdose. It's an anti-nausea medicine. When I was out of my mind and trying to end my life, I figured all of that hydrocodone would make me go to bed and not wake up. I worried about my body waking up and vomiting it out so I figured the zofran would help. I was so out of my mind and didn't know what I was doing in more ways than one. It's not like I had planned any of it or even googled what to do or not do. Acetaminophen overdoses are, as my nurse later told me, "a fucked up, long and brutal way to die." I didn't know at the time, but if my attempt was unsuccessful, I might have needed a new liver instead. For the record, it was 50 hydrocodone, 100 Tylenol, a dozen zofran and half a bottle of rum. The first time.

I've avoided all medicines since April, so all of this is just weird. I also avoided alcohol too. Except I began to drink a daiquiri on the 4th and immediately stopped when I tasted the rum. This week has just been a series of little deja vu... I guess we'll say monsters since they're not really triggers. Too many to actually name and catalog.

I think I finally stopped bleeding from the D and C. It lasted about five days, tapering off at the end. Just like a period. I'm so thankful because I forgot how ridiculous giant pads are.

It's startling how many people suffer with depression or struggle with suicide and how many women deal with infertility and miscarriages. It bothers me that no one talks about it. I didn't know that most of my friends also attempted suicide until they found out about me. I wish I had known. I wish I could have helped them. I wish they could have helped me. But not talking about it helps no one. The same is true for sharing my miscarriage. If it weren't for women posting online what happens or what to expect, where would we be? My doctor and mother couldn't tell me what kind of physical pain to expect from my surgery.

So that's why I say the things I do. Keeping quiet for appearances or the neighbors or my in-laws is just ridiculous. This is life.

what my body thinks

Paintings at St. Joseph's, a photo by Digital Heather on Flickr.

I can't explain why, but these paintings give me a mild case of the jibblies. And I guess a mild case of nostalgia for a time I couldn't possibly remember. But I feel like I've seen them in a first person shooter hallway in a war-torn or post-apocalyptic video game setting that I never finished playing. They actually hang in a hallway that leads to the surgical unit. I've seen them before but finally took a picture earlier this week when I went in for my procedure.

Surgery was okay. I started bleeding right before and had to deal with about 45 minutes of intense pain before the anesthesiologist came in and first drugged me, then knocked me out. I woke up in a world of (more) pain. It was actually more painful than I imagined it would be-- but only for the first 24 hours or so. I also woke up without a voice because I had a breathing tube during surgery that did a number on my throat.

By the next morning, I felt mostly better. My voice came back. I only needed pain medicine once or twice a day instead of every four hours. I had some painful urination for a few days because I was catheterized during surgery, but other than that, this whole thing was pretty easy.

My family came and stayed for a few days to watch me while my husband worked. It was a nice little break/visit. Now it's just me and the dog, back to our regular quiet routine.

I want to get some work done today, but I guess we'll see what my body thinks. In a day or two I'd like to start exercising. I was happy with my body a couple weeks ago, but that was different. We have to wait two cycles before we try again so I might as well do something while I'm doing nothing.

Miss Independence

Sparklher, a photo by Digital Heather on Flickr.

Happy birthday America. You my girl.

Also I love photographing sparklers, so any excuse for that is always aces.