Saturday, June 22, 2013

Too Much

I have this journal with a plain black cover that I carry around with me everywhere. This is in addition to the regular journal I carry with me, the one I use to keep my brains from leaking out my ears at inopportune times. The black one was given to me by a friend and instead of using it as a traditional journal, I decided to utilize it as a place to keep all the potential blog entries that run across my brain all day. I've pulled it out in the middle of coffee shops, at work, while I'm in the car with my husband, while at the grocery store, and anywhere else I might have been. I check the entries off as I post them , so I know I'm covered that particular topic or thought, as I don't want to be redundant. Well, not too redundant, as there are topics which require more than one visit. It's an altogether useful-as-hell little book, so why cannot I not just pick it up, pick an entry and fucking go?

     As is often the case when I step away for too long, I've let things pile up inside and I'm having a hard time sorting through the debris. While Charlotte is becoming more and more enjoyable and we're certainly not sorry to be here, it's so far not quite the promised land that we were looking for. Medical bills keep rolling in, blowing my budget all to hell. I finally got tired of running in circles, trying to make pieces fit when I had no idea what the completed picture should look like, so I asked for help. I think it's going to be one of the bigger weights lifted from our shoulders when all is said and done, because I have every hope that my father-in-law will be able to draw a clear picture of what we're working toward and a map to get there. He's a good guy, my father-in-law.

     That's about the only thing I can pick out from the rubble of my head, though. I mean, at any given time, there are approximately 3,265 thoughts all fighting to be given priority, but it seems like the fights have grown louder lately. Mostly I'm trying to figure out what to do about my husband's disorder at this point and it's not going well. Neither of us has any idea what happens next and we're not finding much assistance in the medical community. He wants to explore other pain-management options besides the methadone-and-Dilaudid dance, but finding a pain management doctor who's willing to entertain ideas that stray from the tried-and-true pills is proving more difficult than we thought. Then again, the last time we disregarded the box, my husband ended up in the back of an ambulance, on his way to the hospital to be treated for a mini-stroke. So...make nice with the narcotics, or make with the science experiments and hope like hell the gamble pays off?

     That's it, that's all I've got. Well, that's what I've got that's semi-cohesive and readable. There's more (isn't there always?) and I'm sure I'll get it straightened out enough in the coming days that I can sit down and start sifting through to see if there's anything useful to be had.

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