My computer came home today, perkier, but still not firing on all cylinders. The tech-docs did their best and will continue to monitor vitals. At least I don’t have to create posts on my phone anymore.
Perhaps now my vague disquietude will ease up. I feel like I’m constantly patting my mental pockets to make sure I have my keys. What am I forgetting? I start out the day with my gym bag and art tote, then forget my purse. Once back in the car, I realize I’ve forgotten the letter I need to mail. Then, my coffee. Or like yesterday, I left my coat somewhere and still haven’t found it.
I’m discombobulated, constantly ticking important stuff off on my fingers. Cats alive? Gas in the car? Shoes on? I check my calendar, then look at it again because I can’t remember what was there. I’m guessing my anxiety is a little spiky.
I’ve been getting about two hours of sleep at night for several months —even taking Xanax, which is usually all I need. So, my med provider switched me to Clonazepam—same pharm family (anti-anxiety), but with a longer duration. I still wake up three or four times a night, but go back to sleep, which I wasn’t able to do on Xanax. And I’m not waking up furious. That alone is a huge relief. Any morning I can get out of bed not pissed off or in PTSD flashback-mode is already a success—no matter what else follows.
Before Anthony, the tech-surgeon, made his house call this afternoon, I vacuumed and dusted a little—something I haven’t done since summer. I told a friend, “You know it’s time to vacuum when the carpet is crunchy.”
Like my computer, I’m still not firing on all cylinders, but we’re both making progress. Two addled brains are better than one, I guess. It’s a good thing the cats are in charge.