Do These Make My Feet Look Big?

Just total nonsense today because I’m busy doing everything other than what I should be doing.

I came across these shoes while surfing the internet. 2e11aac4225c3e47585deaf9c781a1e6

First of all, why?

Second, how does one actually walk in them?

I hope you’ve enjoyed my nonsense today.

Have a good one!

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It’s Sunday – Guess What?

The following made me smile this week:

  • my car is fixed. I can listen to music again and I have navigation capabilities in case I get lost….if I don’t have a map or something prehistoric like that

  • the weather dude-ette said the weather for today would be a 10 out of 11 (11 being the best)—it’s channel 11’s WIZ-O-Meter forecast. By the way WIZ stands for weather information zone

  • the shower pan has been built in our shower and the tile should start going up tomorrow. I even received a lesson how to build one myself. Hopefully my notes covered all the steps of major importance

  • millions of people will continue to have healthcare while others are given the same rights as all

  • our youngest called—which usually is bad news—but he had to tell me that his licence plate fell off and luckily the maintenance man at his apartment complex found it. This, by the way, is after a recent traffic violation he received for having expired tabs

  • my cat—the one who must be part Maine Coon—the one approaching 19 pounds—tried to jump on the recliner via the foot part and it collapsed on him. He appeared embarrassed

  • I made a mini dent in purging my paper hoard

  • the world’s ugliest dog

  • being able to talk to my daughter after a week of no contact due to a hectic week she had at school

I hope you find something to make you smile today!

 

 

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It’s Because I Hate Who I Am

Dr. Chill has had a theory since I began seeing her several years ago. She believes my depression stems from the fact that I hate myself.

While I believe I need to shed more than a pound or two, I don’t hate how I look. Until the shower debacle, I had no doubts in what I could attempt to learn. Oh! By the way, I learned how to build a shower pan thanks to Sonny. :) Deep down, I know that I’m a nice, compassionate, empathetic person.

For as long as I can remember, I have told myself I wasn’t worthy, I was mean and spiteful. Unloveable. Difficult to be around. Bossy. I told this to myself until I believed it as fact. I acted in ways to reinforce this type of thinking.

Don’t you realize I know this is skewed thinking?

I am fully aware that I dug a hole of worthlessness and I haven’t figured out how to climb out of it.

My mind wanders at times to how bad I am, and I have learned how to stop that type of thinking, I simply haven’t learned to replace my focus with thoughts of being worthy of breathing the same air all the good people do.

You see, I can logically see the illogical thoughts, but I don’t know how to reverse them.

I’m striving to repeat as many positive affirmations until I believe them as my truth, but it appears to be taking more time than I feel I have.

I know that I’m not the same person as I was, I’m better—I just don’t fully embrace it as my truth.

I know that I am…..

I just don’t feel I am….

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I Didn’t Realize How Empty the Nest Would Get

Finally, the doctor posted the brief reading of my CT scan on the patient portal. I can tell it was a rush job and I have little confidence in it. I’m choosing to believe that the statement, no recurrence of cancer is evident, is true.

There—I’m still a bit mad, but I’m done with the worry. While I think that anxiety will never leave completely, I refuse to let it rule my life on this particular topic. My doctor has told me to stop living in 6-month increments, and that I shall.

My husband is out of town and I’m in a big ass house with nobody but the cats and dog to keep me company.

We have a Jack-and-Jill bathroom between two of the empty bedrooms and have been taking showers in there until our shower is finished. It’s the spooky bathroom. Our youngest son believes it’s haunted because odd things have happened in there. Pop bottles swirling around, the feeling that someone shoved him, and who knows what else.

I have to say I semi-witnessed one occurrence. He was taking a shower while we were out and he had his music jacked up so that he could hear it. As we unloaded the car I was about to tell him to turn it down a bit when all of a sudden it got quieter. I was happy because it saved me a trip up the stairs.

Later he asked if I turned down his music. No, I had not….creepy. Now I’m in the house alone, taking a shower in that bathroom wondering if a spirit from the Civil War is watching me shower.

As for our guard dog mastiff, she lies outside our bedroom door at night, but I’m positive any intruder could walk right over her. Unfortunately, she is becoming a very old lady. While she may look scary, she doesn’t have much umph these days.

So I go to sleep hoping that a spirit from the Civil War is guarding my door.

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Sunday with April

During my rendezvous with Dr. Chill this week, I began our session with my whine, whine, whining about how frustrated I am with myself being able to stick to my goals. As she kept me talking, I recognized what I have accomplished.

Yes, I set a goal to get up at the same time each day and go to bed the same time each night. We mostly get to bed the same time, and I wake up before my goal time, but I’ve reached that goal of getting up the same time each day. Hmmm…that one got by me and I didn’t pat myself on the back for that one.

So…here are some other things I’ve accomplished and poo-pooed because I was so busy focusing on other, negative things.

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A blanket. The first of probably quite a few because I had a fear that neon green yarn would sell out and I have a mini hoard I have to knit up. The colors are the Seattle Seahawks colors. I can’t wait for football season!

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Socks for my daughter – which I have to get in the mail for her, but it’s summer and I don’t think she’ll be wanting to wear such warm socks.

I have taped and mudded (is that the correct word?) the seams of the sheetrock in our bathroom—waiting for the tile guy to get here. He will be here this week!

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I made this little table to use outdoors. It just needs some stain and it’s good to go. It has a little wobble to it, but I suppose that adds character.

I’ve learned some new things about wood and why I can’t seem to cut a straight line.

I’ve almost reached my goal of being patient and to stop trying to rush things. A job well done is worth the time.

Look how long it has taken me to perfect myself. :D

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Oh! I’m so done with cancer!

Mini rant

I went to get my results today, and my oncologist didn’t have my report that I have stressed about the past week.

No report!?!

I know I’m just one of many patients who have scans, but to each and every one of us, those scans reveal the golden egg or the rotten one. How does one get “lost in the system”? How come it took my oncologist several attempts just to get someone to dig around in that “vast system” to find my scan.

We were in her office for two hours. She finally reached a doctor and was reassured, after skimming over my scan, that nothing had changed.

Skimming.

Why does it take a week to read a scan and send the report to the doctor if a scan can be skimmed over in 5 minutes? Something stinks and I have to say I’m quite riled up at the moment.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy and very grateful that there appears to be no change, but I have absolutely no confidence in the facility I had my scan taken. Is this like the original scan where the first doctor recommended antibiotics for cancer—or the second doctor who told me not to lose any sleep? It’s the one and only time I will go there for a test.

What I’m really over is the worry about cancer rearing its ugly head again. I waste too many days before and after a scan dealing with the physical exhaustion anxiety causes. I either don’t eat, or I overeat. I don’t sleep and can’t focus on much. I have to busy myself with constant activity to get through the days until I am given the results of my scan.

But—oh. my. gosh. I refuse to let my fear get the better of me again!

Maybe I needed this little snafu on the part of the radiologist to show me that I need to live. Now.

This was the nice version of my rant. The one going on in my head is filled with a bunch of name calling and unsavory words.

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Using a new definition for positive thinking

Focus.

I have used the word many times. In my mind, positive thinking meant placing high expectations on myself to be Ms. Perky-Happy Pants.

Imagine the self-hate created when I couldn’t be Ms. Perky-Happy Pants all the time. I now realize how silly that definition was. It wasn’t until I changed my way of thinking to focused thinking.

…..and I didn’t recognize that I was continuing to focus on what I wasn’t accomplishing (the negative) instead of all the little steps I was accomplishing (the positive).

Yesterday I went to the grocery store, and to see Dr. Chill, who helped me recognize what I was doing to myself. I cooked dinner–a healthy one. I woke up before a goal I had set to create a morning routine, and I binge watched a show on Netflix as I knitted, trying to keep my mind off of my scan results.

I breathed.

With the exception of breathing, I could have pushed all the other things I did today–the last week–the last month–to the ignore pile.

No more.

I will focus on what I accomplish each and every day. Looking for beauty or something to smile about has become second nature to me, just as the negative thinking was.

The focus of my attention is being redirected.

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Sunday’s Satisfactory Smiles

I’m having to dig deep this week–I usually write what I find that makes me smile as it happens so that I don’t forget. However, not only am I dealing with the scanxiety of waiting for my CT scan results, I continue to battle against my lack of confidence after flooding the shower from my shower pan installation fail.

I’m having trouble getting motivated to fix my gaffe — you know, removing the stains on the ceiling below, and fixing the woodwork that I took off in order for everything to dry out.

The following made me smile because I looked hard enough….

  • the color of sage-ish green

  • the particular way some daredevil drivers maneuver through traffic

  • a video of little tap dancers

  • a power surge fried the electrical receptacle and the plug to our refrigerator. That didn’t make me smile…but…I replaced the receptacle and the plug with a little help from Google and some from my husband (he kept reassuring me and I had someone to babble about the steps I was taking). I am one baby step closer to confidence that I can do something without creating more work for myself—oh, and the house hasn’t burned down due to my rookie skills—and the refrigerator works.

  • the smell of the candles I purchased from Pier 1 Imports

  • comments from my friends

  • a conversation with a long-time friend on the day I needed her perky voice the most

  • the man carrying his daughter, wearing a flashy little princess outfit, into The Home Depot

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Yes, You Can Own One Too

I’m not all doom and gloom. I have been absent from the blog world because I’ve been spending my excess time running in circles and compulsive knitting. Unfortunately, reading or writing has not stopped one of my circles from continuous movement—until now. In other words, my mind has been a trap of random worries and thoughts.

I still have my sense of humor relatively intact.

I now know that I have a source for those moments I sneeze or laugh too hard (I apologize, old lady joke). This item can be found here.

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This handy little invention is almost purse worthy. My only question….if they expand in water, what happens to them if one has an accident?

Hope you find something to smile about today!

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Miss Fear-The-Results

It’s that time of my life which coincides with a stinkin’ CT scan. As much as I have been emptying the storage locker of my unconscious mind of all the false beliefs I hold in there, apparently I have been replacing those thoughts with another type of fear.

I know I’m not clairvoyant but I subconsciously allow myself to believe I am.

I don’t fear doctors—especially my Primary Torturer. I know exactly what she is going to say because I don’t always comply with her instructions. Last week, prior to my annual tune up, I was as nervous as I was when I was a young girl and taught myself— just don’t think about it because it is a miniscule moment in the scope of life. That repetitive thought has always served me well before a doctor’s appointment—until last week.

CT scans without contrast dye are no biggie. They take only a few moments and I’m out of there. Prior to the one I had yesterday, my fear snuck up on me and stirred up a swirl of anxiety. The panic attack kind. The kind that makes my body feel as if a couple of elephants used me as their kick ball.

I’m guessing that all of this is due to a diagnostic report I was recently searching for, worried that a procedure I had 10 years ago may have caused cancer. I didn’t have the procedure that is causing trouble for some women, but I did come across the pathology report from my cancer surgery four years ago.

Along with all the medical language that the surgeon thoroughly explained to me and assuring me that my prognosis was great, I wrote 67% at 5 years on my copy of the report. Most likely I just had to have numbers from the doctor. I told myself, knowledge is power.

67%

Yes that’s over half of the survivors at the 5-year mark, but I keep thinking of the poor souls included in the 33% who face a recurrence.

33%

I strive to ignore that figure, to believe I’m cured, that I’m one of the lucky ones and I don’t even come close to that figure.

Consciously, I do this.

I know my anxiety is understandable. I can’t imagine a person who survived cancer not being anxious before the results are revealed with each scan. I don’t expect that I will have zero anxiety. I just don’t want the kind that makes me ill and puts a dent in the progress I’ve made to overcome all the regular anxiety issues.

Subconsciously I have that little Hagatha whispering in my ear, convincing me I’m a fool. She’s in my mind dredging up a ton of past regrets and I’m tired of fighting her nastiness.

You are strong.

I tell myself that continually. I hear it continually. I doubt it continually.

You’ll be fine.

I tell myself that continually but, will I be fine?

Think positive.

I did that when it was believed my nodule was a benign annoyance. Positive thinking doesn’t cure all. After all, we didn’t win the mega-lottery either.

The best statement I tell myself comes from Dr. Chill— “Right now, at this very moment, I know I’m fine. I’m healthy unless some new evidence manifests. I will deal with that IF it comes”.

My negative, fear driven thoughts are louder than Dr. Chill’s words. My own affirmations are weak against the fear.

The words spoken by others of my courage, the it will all be fines, the don’t worries—go right through my mind.

I have knowledge, and it’s not helping.

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