No amount of sweet talk, sugar, can ever cheer them up
The condition is influenced by emotions, doctors say
So don't rub you bum the wrong way
I am, in fact, up stupidly late again, having not accomplished the specific things I set out to do tonight on the downstairs computer. Oops. I will eventually get to this important stuff. Really.
Good news first: My printmaking print is par excellence. I am very pleased with it. Tres cool. It's so good, a classmate threatened my life. =)
News without bias: I aquired a new family doctor today. After being late to pick my Mom up, and much later from her perspective because my car and cell phone are both ten minutes later than University time. No wonder I'm late for everything even when I'm not! Ugh.
Bad news: I was diagnosed with spastic colon, aka, Irritable Bowel Syndrome.
Great. I have a syndrome. So onions and peppers and hot food have been added to the ever-growing list of things I shouldn't eat. Oh, and oatmeal, something I hate with a passion similar to my disgust at doing dishes in the sink, has been added to the list of things I should eat. Joy. Also, it's a condition caused by emotional stress. Yay. I kind of guessed at all this already, but I now have a diagnosis and orders from the doctor to stop treating myself like a machine. If my bowels were irritable before, now the rest of me is very irritable.
Totally not stressed at all! I didn't go into a crying fit when I left the doctor's office, complaining that I felt really helpless and couldn't eat practically any decent food located in North America! No sirreee, not this girl. I'm a rock. (Riiiight.)
You know, people keep telling me that I might be wrong, I might go back to school. Here's the thing: School is, literally, killing me. To the tune of, I barely ever eat while classes are in session, and it's only because my bowels have decided a slow murder is in order.
I'm really not coming back. Future self: Remember this moment. It's not worth it. That being said, I still feel like I'm going to enjoy this semester. Mostly.
Three more months. Three more months. Three more months.
When I got home from Printmaking tonight I felt like parts of my body normally incapable of producing aches had decided to chime in the rousing chorus of my body hating me for being such an abusive owner. I popped vitamins and Advil and had a bubble bath with some of my Lush stuff. Best thing that happened today. (Other than peeling off my first print from the metal plate, which probably felt more like Christmas than Christmas did...)
Tomorrow is another day in which I have to go on the safari/video game/adventure of trying to find food that my body won't hate me for eating. *groan*