Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: cold

We’re back in hell again

I’m back with the weather report. It seems like spring is actually here (at least during the day). It’s currently 69 (nice), and it’s supposed to be in the high sixties to high seventies for the next week,, with it going back to the high forties/low fifties during the night. Dare I say that winter is finally done for the year?

*Hastily checks the weather again*

Yes. I am calling it done on winter this yaer. Three months after it would normally end, but that’s Minnesota, especially in the years of our dastardly climate change. I don’t have much to say about that because that’s a war we’ve lost (among others). We could ‘win’ the climate change war if we wanted, but it would take much more effort than anyone is willing to give.

I’m on day two of going to bed at a reasonable-ish time (three-thirty a.m.), and I got almost eight hours. Well, seven-plus. Which is a big feat for me these days. And I only woke up once. Which is also unusual for me these days.

Big thanks to my friend who suggested that I just set a hard limit for myself in getting off my computer. I modified it by getting off my desktop to go to my laptop (which is by where I sleep) in  order to do the last thing I need to do before going to bed.

I realized that part of my problem was that I was literally propping myself up (at my desk) when I should be going to bed. It was especially bad yesterday because I kept snoozing off, but I stubbornly refused to go to bed. I’m so like a toddler in that way. I will fight off all attempts to make me go to bed. As I’ve said several times, I’ve been doing this since I was seven, and I have the hardest time stopping.

With the same friend I mentioned above, I was talking about how some flaws can just be accepted while others need to be dealt with. This one needs to be dealt with, yes, but I can accept a 3 a.m. to 11 a.m. as my sleep schedule if I can do it regularly. I’m a bit bemused at how easily I made the hard switch because thats’ not something I’m usually able to do. I think it’s a few things.

One, making the physical change to the other room at a much earlier time makes it easy just to naturally fall asleep. Two, my sleep has been so shitty in the last few weeks that just moving to the location of sleep signified to my brain that it was time to sleep. So when I actually wanted to sleep, it was much easier just to let go and let sleep take over. Three, my body was just at that point. It had to sleep whether I wanted it to or not. Four, I do believe that my attempt to stay awake for 72 hours (stopping just shy of 48) jumpstarted the change.


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Whatever the hell I want

I’m back with the daily weather report (only because it’s been so wild lately). Last night,  we hit freezing for a hot minute. Now, it’s a toasty 57 degrees, and it seems like we’re finally having spring. We’re actually supposed to hit 81 a week from Saturday. While I personally would be happy if we never went over eighty (seventy!), I know most people would not agree with me. Also, it’s really bad for the climate. At least I’m assuming the fact that we are perpetually in winter isn’t good for the climate in general.

So, last night, I managed to go to bed at three. Which, for me, is four to five hours earlier than usual. These days, anyway. And I managed to get eight-ish hours of sleep. Which, again, these days is a fucking miracle. See, I’ve been going to bed later and later, but I’ve been firm about getting up at the same time. This is the way I’ve been trying to fix my broken sleep schedule. I’ve said for some time that I’m trying to make it three to eleven because that’s about as normal as it gets for me. Also, that’s what actually works best fro me.

Side note: K and I have talked about this several times. When she was here, she was a night person like I was. Although she could not indulge in it the way I do because she’s a teacher. Which, as you probably know, has crazy early hours. That sometimes runs into very late hours. And once she had a kid, well, she had to sleep pretty much whenever she got an hour here and there. But back in those days, she was happiest with three to eleven like me.

I know all the experts say you should get to bed before midnight, blah, blah,blah. I have not gotten to bed before midnight since I was seven–except for the time right after my medical crisis. It only took a year for me to get back to going to bed around three in the morning, though.

I don’t know what kicked me into going to bed at five or six, but I feel like it’s a fairly recent event. Maybe the occupation of Minneapolis by ICE? Actually, that’s possible, but I feel it was a bit further back than that. At any rate, going to bed at seven in the morning (and I’ve gotten as late/early as nine) is too late even for me.

If I could make my sleep schedule three to eleven on the regular, I would be satisfied with that. There is no way I can make it much earlier than that. I have tried to target one in the morning, but that’s when I feel the most awake. Midnight to three or four, to be precise.


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Walking in a winter wonderland

I’ve been fascinated with the weather in the last week or so (well, all “spring” really, and spring is in quotes because it’s been anything but)  because it’s as if winter is just refusing to leave. We Minnesotans are used to variant weather in March and April, but things are usually pretty settled by May. Here is what I wrote about it (amongst other things) in yesterday’s post.

I personally would not mind if we did not hit eighties or nineties at all during the spring/summer, but I know that would make most other people sad. Since I don’t go outside much, I should just suck it up and wish for eighties and nineties for other people. I have air con, too, which I try not to use. I am conscious that it’s bad for the environment, and while I prefer the cold to the heat, I’m fine up to 76*, but anything over that is unbearable.

Sometimes, I wish I had known shit about me when I was much younger. Such as the fact that I’m very sensitive to any external stimuli. Not just heat, which is my nemesis, but other things such as scents, light, and sounds. Not just loud sounds, but different kinds of sounds. For instance, I hate ASMR. So much. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Even if it’s done by people I adore, I have to grit myy teeth to get through it. Basically, any kind of whispering is irritating to me.

Most fabrics bother me, too. My life is a series of irritating things–physically, I mean. Most of them are on the level of what irritates me in the literal sense, but there are some that just irritate me in colloquial sense, too.

My sleep is such a hot mess right now. I think it’s the worst it’s ever been. No wait. That’s not true. That’s recency bias. It was much worse when I was in college. At least I’m getting sleep now–six to eight hours. Back then, I got four if I was lucky.

I know what I have to do; I just really, really, really rebel against doing it. It really is me fighting my own brain, which is not easy to do. More than that, it’s nearly impossible. Sometimes, it’s physically uncomfortable when I do something that my brain doesn’t want me to do. That’s not an excuse, obviously. I need to do what I need to do, and I need to find a way to make it tolerable.

One thing I’ve decided to do is return to what I used to do that worked for me. There are many things that don’t, but one thing that did was making sure I did what I needed to do before allowing myself to chill out. I mean, this is probably what most people do on the regular, but it’s really hard for me to keep my brain on track.

I don’t want to use it as an excuse, but I really feel this to be true after my medical crisis. Before that, I had discipline to do what I needed to do before relaxing. Since my medical crisis, it’s really hard to keep my focus on one thing. The only exception is when I’m practicing my weapons. Even that, though, is done one form at a time (so a few minutes per form). I will say that when I’m teaching myself a new form, I can focus for up to a half hour or however long it takes me to teach myself the new posture.

Other than that, though, I have to really put my mind to something to focus for more than an hour.

Let me be clear that I’ve always had difficulty focusing unless I was hyperfocusing on something. It’s just that it’s gotten even harder now, and I feel likke it’s not completely my fault. Meaning, it’s not something that I can just fix by pure willpower.

It’s diffiuclt for me to say, but I’m feeling pretty hopeless right now. There is so much I want/need to do, but I have the hardest time doing any of it. My personal life is a mess as is the world around me. I don’t feel like anything I do matters. I came back to life four-and-a-half years ago, and what have I done with my bonus time? Not much of anything.

This is not me being hard on myself; this is me being real. I have wasted my bonus days just as I have wasted much of my previous life. I know that the only answer to that is to actually start doing something–but that’s so much easier said than done. With all that is broken in my brain, it’s hard to think of a way to fix even a portion of it.

It’s the same with the country around me. It’s all fucked. It’s so fucked. We are living in the worst time, and I don’t have the energy to deal with it, honestly. I’m feeling pretty low at this moment, and I’m not sure if I want to claw my way out.

I’ve always suffered from depression and anxiety, and it’s been up and down all my life. Both were bad up until my medical crisis, and then,  it was drastically different. My deperession decreased by 90% and my anxiety went down by 60%. These are rough estimates. I would say that my depression has ratcheted back up to be about 90% of what it originally was (so still a 10% decrease) and my anxiety is maybe 80% of what it was pre-medical crisis.

So overall, it’s not quite as bad as it once was, but it’s still bad. I think the worst part of it is that I just don’t have the energy/wherewithal to do anything about it. Each day passes as an imitation of the one before, and I feel helpless to do anything to make it better. I know that one thing that may help is seeing a therapist, but it’s cruelly ironic that the thing that may help the most is often somethnig that seems so far out of reach.

I really am at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do.

*Fine, of course, is relative. I mean fine as long as I don’t have to move much. Bearable is the better word.  And as long as I’m shielded from the elements.

My time to shine

It’s finally autumn. Two weeks ago, we had 90 degree weather. It was so hot, they had to cancel the Twin Cities Marathon. It’s the hottest it’s been in October in Minnesota. That lasted for several day, but what climate change? *waves hands*

Now, it’s a balmy 46 feels like 39, and I have my fake fur throw blanket on my legs. It’s cozy, and it makes me happy to look outside and see the leaves changing colors. We had a torrential rain last night, which we needed.

I used to not appreciate autumn. I didn’t NOT like it, but it was the blah season before my favorite season ever. Seriously, winter is S tier. The rest didn’t even rate.

The reason why: I am allergic to everything. Everything. I step outside and I can’t breathe. That’s hyperbole, but not by much. I like to say that the outdoors is fine as long as there is glass between us.

I hate spring and summer. HATE. It’s the beginning of me being wheezy and/or drippy. If I get bit by a mosquito (of which there are so. damn. many), it  would swell up to the size of a grapefruit. One time, I was in Taiwan in the summer. Everyone drove scooters, and I would ride behind other people. Mosquitos love me and will ignore other people to attack me.

Side note: This was an issue between my father and me. Mosquitos left him alone, so he did not believe me when I said that I was bitten. Thanks, Dad.

Anyway, back to that summer in Taiwan. I was getting bitten all the time. At one point, I had huge, swollen bites all over my legs. It looked gross, and  Ifelt miserable. The last time I got the allergy test where they prick your leg a million times and it swells like a balloon (oh wait, just me?). There were roughly forty pricks and after ten minutes, they had all swelled into each other.  It was one, hot, throbbing (and not in a good way) massive welt.

Side note: When I was a kid, I had to get allergy shots every week. My mother did not explain what was happening. She just drove me to the clinic. I got the shot. Then we had to wait twenty minutes to see what happened. Inevitably, it would swell up and be hot–making me miserable. Then we would leave. After several years, I just stopped going.

It wasn’t until much later that  I realized (or rather, Googled) what was going on. In a nutshell, they were injecting me with allergens. The theory is that you desensitize someone to allergens by poisoning them with it little by little. Am I biased? Hell, yes. I also didn’t understand why my brother didn’t have to go through the torture. He told me later that he had tested as being beyond help.


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The heat has gone to my head

I hate heat. I hate it so much. I live in Minnesota, which is known for its cold and snow, but our dirty little secret is that we have one or two really hot weeks every summer. Like over 100 degrees hot. Like, I am sitting in front of my fan with my AC going and I’m never leaving kind of hot. That was yesterday when it ‘felt like’ 107 degrees. It’s hard to comprehend that number, really.

I am not a hot person at all. More to the point, I’m not a moderate person, either. Heh. That could apply to many things about me, not just temperature. But for now, let’s stick to temp.

I’ve always hated heat since I was a little kid. My parents would tell me to put on a coat and I would always demure. My father thinks it’s amusing now to remind me how disobedient I was about not wearing a coat back then. He claimed I said it was because he didn’t ask me politely to do it, but just ordered me to do it.

That wasn’t it. I mean, that was probably part of it, but it wasn’t the main reason. The main reason I pushed back was because I wasn’t cold. Also, the way he would put it was, “Put on a coat because I feel cold.” Not because he thought I was cold, but because he was cold. He’s a raging narcissist so if he’s cold, of course, I am, too.

This was actually a stressor for me when my parents were home during my medical trauma. We went for a walk every morning, which I didn’t really want to do. Why? Because they had to criticize what I wore when we went. I don’t get cold. I have been dressing myself for decades.
I know how to layer and I know that I’ll get hot when I walk.

My mom started asking me every day if I was cold, or I must be cold, or wasn’t I cold? I calmly asked her not to do that one time when we were not on the walk. A reasonable request, I thought. She responded by saying she didn’t know how to talk to me at all. Which, what? I mean, I have told her since I was a kid that I don’t get cold. I. Do. Not. Get. Cold. This is a constant for me. I only get cold when I’m sick and even then, it’s very rare.

I don’t wear a coat except maybe twice a winter. I have all the accoutrements I need , including a sctarf/hood, gloves, and thremals. I’m not going to let myself freeze. I’ve lived in Minnesota all my life; I know how to deal with the winters. I do not need anyone telling me to put on gloves, a scarf, etc.


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Fighting mad

I’m still feeling shitty. I’m doing another excavation as to what is causing my digestive issues. Strawberries for one. Also, berries are really frustrating in that they go bad in three days, but that’s not the point of this post. Strawberries are starting to hurt my stomach, which is a shame. Blackberries and blueberries are on the cusp.

I woke up feeling super shitty today and slammed down two migraine meds (non-prescription). I’ve been trying not to use them every day because I don’t want to blunt the usefulness, but that has meant white-knuckling a few days where I didn’t use them.

I’ve had to pare back on my taiji weapons because I just can’t do it all. I mean, it’s a lot to begin with, but my body is not up for doing the whole thing. I don’t like it, but there we are.

In sickness and in sickness

It’s time for my annual check up on my thyroid, and I should probably get a physical as well. I need to get another doctor because my old one left the network, so I’m not looking forward to that. I’ve had my issues with doctors, and I have a string of problems that have seem to stump the best of them. It’s one thing I want to figure out by my 50th birthday–what the fuck is wrong with me. Physically, I mean. I already know what the fuck is wrong with me emotionally, even if I haven’t fixed it yet.

Side Note: I’ve realized that I will not be able to fix everything that’s wrong with me (emotionally in this case) by the time I died, and what’s more to the point, there were things that I considered flaws in myself that I didn’t care to change. What, how can that be? Because they’re either not worth the effort to change or I’ve learned to live with them. One example is that I work to the back of a deadline. This use to cause trouble between my mother and me because she would send me something she wanted me to edit and give me a timeline, say, a month from the time she sent it to me. Cool, fine, I think to myself. I’ll start it in three weeks, and it’ll be fine.

Except. She’ll start emailing me a week later or maybe two to ask about it. I would say I hadn’t started, and I could feel the disapproval and stress radiating through the ether. I finally had to bring it up with her because it was driving me crazy, and I’m sure it wasn’t doing anything good for her, either. It turned out that she was giving me a deadline that was the last possible time she could get it back–and with agony. In my mind, she was giving me the reasonable deadline. I told her that if she wanted it comfortably in two weeks, she had to tell me so. She thought she was being thoughtful by giving me two extra weeks. I took her at her word that I had the whole month.

It actually worked out because I did move up my own schedule a bit and she gave me something closer to an actual deadline. I know there are people who do the things the second they get the assignment, and while I admire them, it’s not me. I do my best work with my back to the wall, and I’ve actually figured out a way to do it with a small amount of comfort. Once I let go of the idea that I would be the kind of person to do it from the start, I was able to manage my time better. In other words, I wasn’t blowing sunshine up my ass and was better able to assess my actual ability.

I’m really tired of being sick. And exhausted. And feeling like my physical health is out of control. My thyroid has been stable for the past few years, so I don’t expect that to be the issue. It might have something to do with my digestive problems and the FODMAP elimination diet. Which, by the way, I’m still stalled on the adding things back part of the diet. After going two months being 90% better, the idea of willingly poisoning myself again is repulsive to me. The first time I added garlic to something, I had a middling response. It wasn’t running to the bathroom, but it was a bloated uncomfortable feeling. I haven’t tried it again, but I don’t want to lose garlic. It’s in almost everything I eat for one thing, and it’s just goddamn tasty on the other.


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Run over by a semi truck

The crud that I’ve been fighting off has hit hard, and I sound like Barry White–when I have a voice at all. I already have a deep voice, but this cold is making me a double bass. Sexy? Not really because it’s interspersed with a hacking cough or a loud throat clear that ain’t sexy no way, no how, no why. So, another day of hunkering down on my couch with Shadow warming my legs as I alternate between freezing and boiling. Have some Barry White in honor of my sickness.

General Housekeeping: back in Minnesota edition

I am back home. I had a great time with my BFF, and I miss her already. I had my first Lyft ride and a very interesting conversation, good Chinese and great Indian, got cultured, and so much more. Now, I’m back home with Shadow snuggled on my chest. He told me off quite soundly for being gone. Now, however, I am forgiven. I will write more later. For now, a video.

The road is long…and bland

my heritage.
My lifeblood.

So, I’ve been doing some lackadaisical research into what I’m intolerant to because I don’t have the energy to do a deep dive. In addition, I’m resentful about having to cut something else from my diet. I didn’t like cutting out gluten and dairy, but it was fairly easy to do so. I had a harder time with caffeine, but I don’t miss it now. The problem is that I eat the same thing pretty much every day, and to cut out one thing from my staples feels inappropriately large. I think it might be something in the nut family. I’m currently enjoying a dark chocolate peanut butter that is the best of the chocolate spreads out there (of the ones I can eat). I have it on a bagel or a hamburger bun (which is cheaper than the bagels by half), and sometimes I slap some jam on it.

I’ve not had a problem with this, but I ate a few spoonfuls yesterday sans bread and jam. That didn’t sit well with me, and my bowels were not happy with me for the next few hours. It’s vegan and gluten free, so that shouldn’t be an issue. I’ve noticed an itchiness inside when I’ve eaten nuts before, so I’m keeping my eyes on it. It’s not noodles, thankfully (rice noodles, natch), but I’m concerned it could be rice. I will not deal well with it if it’s rice. I already did not deal well with people telling me I should eat brown rice instead of white (I know, but I don’t care), and if I turn out to be sensitive to white rice, well, I am not going to be a happy camper. I’ll just leave it at that.

I’ve also noticed that I feel the worst in the morning when I just get up. Today, I had a piercing headache–the kind that turns into a migraine if I’m not careful–and a shallowness of breath. I still have the breathing issue, though I took care of the headache problem (it’s a minor headache now, which I can deal with). I’m exhausted, even though I slept for almost seven hours. That’s how I know I’m sick–when I sleep more than six hours.

I hate being like this. I hate not being really sick because I feel like I should fight through it. It doesn’t help that my mother is the type to ignore her health until she can’t. She had back surgery three weeks ago, and she was up and walking two days later. Now, she wants to walk 30 minutes a day, and I told her to pace herself. There are other issues including my father is being an ass to her. It was to be expected, but it’s still difficult. I’m thinking about going there for a week or two, but that would come at a great cost to myself. I’m worried about her, and while I knew what would happen would happen, it’s infuriating to see it play out in real time.
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