I feel pretty crummy, but I don’t know what’s wrong. I just don’t feel quite right. I had to cancel today’s appointment with my personal trainer and tomorrow’s shopping outing. I figure, if I feel this horrible with nothing tangible attached (other than a vague “creaky” feeling, which would feel better if I just exercised a little), I won’t get better overnight.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been sleeping so poorly: I can’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep at a reasonable hour (after plenty of winding down and rituals and lavender-and-chamomile scentedness), I can only sleep when I’m absolutely exhausted and, then, I keep waking up at least every hour.  Even naps have been sucking big sweaty donkey balls. My doctor suggested having a set nightly bedtime and moving to the guest room as soon as I start having trouble. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that’s where the litterbox is and it would be easier to try to convince my husband to sleep there (which we’d both hate – I cherish the 5.3 minutes of quiet talking before he is suddenly unconscious, and he cherishes the soft mattress, many pillows, and the freedom of having a boobie within arm’s reach all night).

I’m back to the level of non-conscious bodily discomfort I was at months ago, where I start feeling nauseous until I realize I have to use the bathroom and I’m having trouble maintaining my body temperature (I feel hot-cold-hot-cold-hot…).

Maybe I’m sick. Maybe it’s a UTI. Maybe I need more/better sleep. Maybe I just need some not-overly-strenuous exercise.

But right now, I’m finally feeling nauseous enough to want to use the bathroom and then make my way to bed. And poor Stewie’s finally so comfortable in my lap. Oh, well – life’s hard for a pimp-cat.

A lot has changed since the last post, and a lot has stayed the same.

Over the past five weeks, I have been working out with a Personal Trainer who has a lot of experience with helping people with fibromyalgia, or have other issues with chronic pain. I have more energy and strength, sleep more at night, and I have a visibly different shape. I’m also now seeing cheekbone shading, a more defined collar bone, and an omega-shaped ridge below my ribs that is the start of a 6-pack (not that I ever expect one). Unfortunately, my weight has stayed roughly the same (approx. 8 lbs lost) and measurements vary (for example, my butt is more toned, but is raised and rounded, which can raise my hip measurements)… so I’ve gotten a digital caliper and a scale that approximates body fat and water retention through electrical currents. That way, I can monitor improvement in other ways and hopefully not get into a funk.

I started out doing teeny little exercises designed for arthritic nonagenarians, including sitting on a stability ball and 15 minutes on a recumbent elliptical machine on least resistance, but each time we met we ramped it up. Two weeks ago, we hesitantly tried 8 reps on each of a few arm machines. Now, I warm up with 30 minutes on the recumbent elliptical at 150% the original pace. Then, I do a circuit of nautilus-style machines for arms and legs, 2 sets of 12 reps each, with the first set on a new, higher weight and the second set using only (just over) half the weight to stretch the muscle.  Finally is ball work, both using a stability ball and a 4-lb medicine ball to do crazy stuff like putting my legs on the stability ball (to up the effort) and making a “bridge” with my back, raising myself 10 times from just barely touching the floor, then 10 from half-way, then squeezing my tush 10 times, then removing the ball to make it a standard bridge so I can move my knees apart and back together 10 times. Another favorite, since it works my triceps, neck, and abs, is when I hold the medicine ball above my chest with both hands, and then bring it backwards, behind my head, all while I keep my belly button in and have my legs atop the stability ball (again, to increase the effort and effectiveness). To target the lower abs, I dig into the stability ball with my heels and bring my hips up and knees all the way to my chest, in two sets of 12. Finally, we do some seated stuff on the ball, using the medicine ball to do bicep curls and rotate my torso to target my obliques, and maybe even toss a medicine ball back and forth for a funner version of oblique work, and finally try balancing on the Bosu.

For the past 2½ weeks, I’ve been on the 5-day diet, but I’m switching back to the 7-day diet so that I can continue to lose weight. I think I’ll stay on it through the summer, with the occasional meal “off” (perhaps 1 dinner/week and 1 breakfast+lunch/week) that will allow me to share more with my husband, while I slowly push back my meal schedule or allow me to nix a meal that doesn’t look right or just doesn’t appeal. I need the structure to help me continue to lose weight. But my relationship with food has certainly changed. I’m no longer in search of food when I’m in pain or upset, and I no longer fantasize about meals. I just see it as fuel… the input of my daily biological function… with the rare difference being that I “munch” on grapes and sometimes sweets call to me, although last night was the first time I gave in over the past 8 weeks, and that was only after calculating the amount of energy I’d used and the amount I’d ingested. But I really really want to get closer to a “normal” weight. In a perfect world, 40 lbs more. Ideally, 25 lbs more. But I’ll accept at least doubling the weight loss I’ve had over the past 2 months.

Aside from the physical changes, I’ve also been much more social. I joined a local Catholic church that has an extremely large congregation (1,500 families or so) and have signed up for information on joining various small groups (of which there are many) that do good works, study the bible, or organize events. My husband and I have also socialized together with couples whose male counterparts play Magic with him. First, we ate lunch out, saw Toy Story 3 in IMAX 3D, and then went out to dinner at a Filipino restaurant with a slowly growing group. The following weekend, his friend had a belated housewarming party, and I met an entirely new group of people… although I didn’t feel all that comfortable and had a bad headache (mini-migraine), we stayed for 4 hours. Yesterday, both groups combined (plus many, many more), for a 40th-birthday-bash / Independence Day celebration. We were there for over 7 hours and I had a great deal of fun, meeting many people and getting to know others better. I am very hopeful for a more social future for both myself and my husband, together and separately, which is awesome.

Finally, I am getting more and more people becoming fans of the Facebook page for my tutoring business and I got very serious interest from a mother of a student with a disability who was going to homeschool him and needed a math teacher (5 hours per week!). Even if she does not choose to go with me, I have hope that I will get enough students to get by. I just need to get through the summer, focusing on wellness, family, friends, preparation, and hobbies.

After sleepless hours and constantly reassuring myself it will all be fine and the cats will accept it and my husband will see how happy I am and everyone will be happy… I realize that this is a lot of crap.

It wasn’t until we were talking with our couple’s therapist tonight that it came out that my husband really, really, really does not want a dog in the house. He can tolerate dogs, and even take some comfort in their company (when they are quiet and just lying beside you on the couch), but does not want one in his home. This means that, regardless of how happy I am, I believe that all he’ll see is how inconvenienced we are as a result of a dog being in our home and inconvenienced = unhappy husband. We came up with a lot of ways that I can get what I need from my husband when he’s home. Probably during my personal counseling session my doctor will try to help me come up with ways I can get what I need for myself as well.

However, I already loved the dog that was coming into my home, and feel much the same way I did when I got my period after a questionably-positive pregnancy test back when I was well and we were trying to have a baby 5 years ago. (It’s worse than having to go on disability leave and abandon my students because, honestly, a lot of those kids were being total jerks to me, personally.)  That space I made in my heart and nested and planned for is just going to go vacant. I will not have someone to drag out of their shell through patience, love, and understanding. I will not have a buddy to spend my days with. I will not have someone else for whom I have to take a walk and stay well (for my husband and my self and the rest of my family, I weigh pros and cons of any activity and accept the consequences in order to do things with him I may not feel up to).

I figure it’s for the best, because if a foster is easily frightened (like most) and my husband reacts to barking or accidents the way he reacts to our kitty Stewie shouting at night… well, it could do more harm than good. Maybe, one day when we have kids (or when we have empty nest syndrome) and a yard, the kids and I will be able to convince my husband to let me get a dog.

When it comes down to it, I want my husband to be happy and comfortable at home above all else. I guess it’s been long enough since he’s been comfortable, that he’s not really willing to accept this discomfort (which, to him, appears to be significant) for my potential happiness, if there’s any way that happiness could be achieved through other means, however elaborately multi-pronged and potentially exhausting they may be, as well as putting greater burdens upon him.

I already emailed the local person and said I cannot foster. I even stretched the truth:

I’m really very sorry, but after bringing our cats to the vet for their checkup and getting some disheartening news about each of them, and then going to see my doctor to find out my recent fibromyalgia flare-up was most likely due to a tear in my left shoulder blade/back muscle, I’m going to have to cancel my application to foster. Apparently I and my family are just not up to it.

Since there’s no going back, in honor of the dog I already loved and never met, here are a few LOLdoxies from ihasahotdog.com:

I’ve been feeling moody lately. It’s hard to explain to someone that loves me that I’m not depressed, because they’re too used to my varying levels of depression, but I’m truly not depressed.

I don’t feel hopeless and I don’t feel (completely) helpless.

I just feel frustrated because my progress in everything has slowed as though I’m trying to swim in caramel, and lonely because I have little contact with anyone other than my cats, husband, parents, and siblings (in order of amount of contact).

It will take time before people will want a tutor/advocate again; that’s just how the summer is.

It will take time to get the house the way I want it (because I can’t do much myself and I can’t ask my husband to do much more than help clean or move specified things and even then, it’s rarely on my timetable) and then, once the house is all tidy, it will take time and energy to keep it that way.

It will take time before I’m a weight I find at all acceptable.

It will take time before I can do exercises on my own, without a personal trainer, and even then it will take a while before I build up any normal level of strength or endurance.

It will take time before I’ll even have the option of fostering a dog, or before I meet anyone new.

As my favorite psychiatrist once told me, “Sometimes life just sucks.” So, if it gets you down, that doesn’t mean you’re depressed, it just means you’ve properly evaluated the situation and will just have to endure through the suckitude.

I’m starting to stress out over bringing a foster dog into my home, especially after reading “Dachshunds for Dummies”.

Today, the vet said it’s very possible the cats might get very stressed out. Although Leela handled it well, I don’t know if Stewie will. But I hope so.

My baby brother thinks it’s a mistake and will drain me.

What if it’s a destructive, stubborn dog that’s hard to housebreak and barks constantly?
What if it’s a sweetheart and just needs love and understanding and patience?
What if it’s both?

What if I don’t foster a dog? I’m pretty sure I’ll go insane over this summer, being alone all day with only having my husband for company most evenings and some days on the weekend. Even the cats are upstairs asleep all day and get very irritated if I try to engage them.

But I adore my kitties (they’re my babies!) and I would never, ever wish them a moment of harm unless there were a greater good that came of it… like an uncomfortable shot, or the potential for them and a doggie having a big cuddle all together.

I also need to continue to get better, and if fostering a dog drains me too much, I won’t be ready to work  2-4 hrs every day in the fall.

Decisions! They suck.