It’s November 19 and ten days since I last wrote here.
Last Thursday I dropped .5 milligrams down to 1 milligram. So I am going on a week at this level.
It’s very hard. This morning could hardly get out of bed with fatigue and an excess of end-of-life-I-am-decaying thoughts.
The one year anniversary of Steve’s death was last Saturday. I had flowers delivered to his graveside.
That was a hard day.
Our old cat took to howling at night and kept us up at night three nights running. Carol took her to the vet. Turns out she has kidney disease and perhaps associated high blood pressure which may account for her agitation and anxiety at night. It’s a sad thing to observe. We are giving her a kitty-cat tranquilizer at the moment.
I lost the Ipod I had for about four years. I think I left it upstairs at the club. I am absent minded. This morning could not remember the Wizard of Westwoods last name: Wooden.
I bought another Ipod and it took me two days before I could figure out how to get Itunes to recognize all the music files I have on the hard drive.
Terrorists attacked Paris. The airways are full of nastiness, fear, rampant speculation.
The predictions for an El Nino continue dire. Epic, a downpour of Biblical proportions, etc. is anticipated. I am afraid the abandoned golf course will flood and we will have water damage. Who knows? But I think about it every morning and wonder if I should stock pile food and water in preparation for a complete loss of power.
I groan every other step it seems. Must be the drug withdrawal. It seems as if my body is one giant muscle that’s about to cramp up, and then I groan.
Saw old George at the club. He is 87 and had some heart trouble, a year of so back, triple bypass surgery. You can see the scar running down the middle of his chest.
I continue to work out daily. An hour on bike, 25-30 minutes on elliptical; plus, .5 mile swim. I am down to 164. Good for my knees, especially since the left one started acting up (sharp pain when walking) a couple of days ago.