Went to River Falls to drop Anna back at school. Sara will be home at the end of the week. If things go according to plan and fall ever so neatly into place, I might move out before she leaves weekend after next. This may mean I may not have to sleep on the couch for more than a few days (we have different sleeping patterns. I go to bed at a reasonable hour, Sara goes to bed at the crack of midnight or later. This also means that I get up early and she gets up at noon. Trying to sleep in a room with someone else playing Wii into the wee (pun intended) hours is not good for sibling relations (also known as: Fibro Girl will be a jumbled mess of distraction/grump if she doesn't get her goddamn Z's at night on time.)
The arrangement right now is for little me to sleep on the couch. If I'm still living here next week. We shall see.
Of course, as the Fastball song says, "Nothing in my life ever came with a guarantee." IF I get the library interview, IF I get the job, THEN (therefore, otherwise, henceforth and such) I can LOOK at the awesome apartment on Brown Street that's a block away from work, and hope I like it, want it, yadda yadda henceforth and such, and THEN, THEN, THEN I may get the H out of here.
All of this depends on a phone call. EEP.
I'll let you know if things go north or south here.
Ta,
Bec
PS: I am very definitely not lactose-intolerant anymore. I can handle a lot before I have even a minor reaction. I had cheese the other day? Nothing. Had a shake yesterday? Nope. Milk in my tea? Ha, don't make me laugh.
It's clear to me that my stomach was damaged and now it's not thanks to my abstaining from every food in the world I love-pasta, cakes, cookies, pierogis, Cornish pasties, pies, pot pies, scones, BAGELS...at least if they're made with wheat flour.
It means, therefore, that I did have damage to my intestines thanks to my problems and now it's healed. But it does mean, as I've said in previous entries, that I will never be able to go back to the way I was, or risk having all the same problems that I had before...only this time, I'll know what's happening and I'll be cringing with guilt on top of everything else.
I used to be Carb City. I was a gluten-loving machine. I ate sandwiches for breakfast. I had pasta every day. I loved scones and having a nice bagel with cream cheese. I loved pizza and pie and fried chicken, and those German chocolate cookie rings. Giving it up has been hard, harder than I ever thought it would be.
I'm getting better at managing it. Three months of living under the nose of temptation in this house is enough to harden anyone. There isn't a day where I couldn't chow down on something that looks absolutely delicious and could put me in cramps for two days.
I think the hardest thing right now is pizza. They have it every couple of weeks around here and just smelling it is torture like I've never known. Willpower is almost not enough...and then I remember that the last time I had it, I spent two days in pain BECAUSE of it. Five minutes of enjoyment versus two days of my stomach turning itself into knots? I'll have rice and lentils, thank you VERY much.
I can't go back to the way I ate before, not now that I know I have the power to make my stomach not heave and complain like a stormy ocean every time I eat a pretzel. I can hate it all I like, but this is the way things have got to be, and I have to be okay with that.
(Boy, can I ramble on a bit, eh?)
Nothing on the job yet. Waiting!
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