Hennigans. The no smell, no tell scotch.

I’m back in Boston.  The reprieve at home was nice in that I got to hang out with my cat, play Trivia and Match Game, and talk to my therapist.  She helped me make a plan so that I can address my concerns with the doctors.  I needed to find out if I need emergency surgery, or if I can slow things down and get a better handle on my options.  One thing I recall them mentioning as a potential danger was osteoporosis.  It’s not an issue for most African Americans, as we have denser bones.  My appointment is tomorrow morning, and I wrote down my script so I’m not particularly anxious about going.  I’m on day 2 of migraines, but it’s probably from dehydration due to flying.  It’s not severe enough to do anything but make me a little cranky.

I haven’t been running, for obvious reasons.  That ends tomorrow.  I’m not willing to sacrifice my mental health any longer.  If my thyroid isn’t actively trying to kill me, than it’s not an emergency as far as I’m concerned.  It’ll have to wait until I climb out of this hole of depression.  I can almost picture The Depression Monster, lowering some lotion down to me in a basket.  “It rubs the lotion on it’s skin, or else it gets the hose again”.  It’s disturbing how much enduring depression can feel like being trapped in hole in the ground by a psychopath.  Good times.

I’m reading a book by a new-to-me author recommended by a friend.  I finished the first book, titled Fool’s Errand, by Robin Hobb.  I loved it.  Now I’m off to begin the next book, titled, Golden Fool.  It’s a dragon fantasy.  There can never be too many dragon fantasy novels.