Holy Crow, it works!

A few weeks ago, in spite of a good life and sunny days, I started feeling blue.  The grey film was sliding over everything, and I was having thoughts about hurting myself.  Not that I was saying, "Life is so miserable that I just can't stand it anymore." Just random flashes.  Like driving down the road and visualizing turning the car into the side of the 18 wheeler beside me.  Or, while slicing a mango, thinking, "This knife is really too short to actually kill myself with."  I'm not crazy, but sometimes my body  decides to soak up too much seratonin, whch we all need to stay cheerful and balanced. 

don't worry.  I was not suicidal or anything like it.  But Winston Churchhill's black dog was on my trail.

So I made an appointment to talk to my doctor about upping my Prozac dosage.  And in the meantime, somehow, I started using the treadmill again.  I am getting in half an hour a day.  And doggone, if that grey film didn't lift, and the grim thoughts stopped, and I even went back to having happy dreams.  Exercise really does help!  I saw the doc yesterday, and we agreed to keep an eye on the situation, but not fool with the dosages yet.  And keep on walking!!

One thing that helps, and I can not begin to express how very much this simple little thing helps, is that DH applauds when I have finished a workout.  I just radiate smiles right now thinking about it.  Approval is SO important to me!

Oh, and the weight is beginning to burn off, too.  After I broke my wrist, I sort of  went into a funk for three months.  I was crippled, and wanted to do nothing but eat and feel sorry for myself and be cautious about further injury.

And my dreams started letting me know that all was not well.  I dreamt repeatedly about being lost and late for something. 

Oh, that's right.  Other people may not react to that situation with the same gut-twisting dread that I feel.  This is a dream that brings me bolt upright, sweating in fear.  When that happened, I called the doctor.  But it takes weeks to get in to see your medic if it's not an emergency.  And bad dreams do not really constitue an emergency. 

Luckily, I managed to get off my fattening butt and start walking.  We watch Jeporady, then I put on walking shoes and hit the treadmill.  If I had to go to the trouble of workout clothes, it wouldn't happen.  I just sweat into what I was wearing all day, throw it in the washer when I'm done, and take a lovely hot bath.  I sleep like a hibernating bear, and the day is brighter when I wake up.

And last night I dreamt I was going back to college with a bunch of the women from my writing group, and we moved into a BIG apartment together, with lots of empty cupboards for us to start putting wonderful things into.  Oh, the glorious possibilities.  WHAT a happy dream!

On the other hand, DH just got his work schedule for the next three months.  He has to work at least one day, if not both days of three out of four weekends till the end of the year.  They just don't have enough machinists to keep the machines going, so they have instituted mandatory overtime.  This sucks rocks!  If you know any machinists, or even someone who would like to be a machinist, Precision Cast Parts in Portland Oregon is hiring.  They will even teach you how to run the machines, and send you to school to improve your skills.  You DO have to pass a drug test, and not be a recent felon.  But they pay really well, and as long as America is fighting wars, Precision will have work to do. (They build airplane and tank parts, as well as all sorts of other cool things like artificial finger joints, and land-based power turbines and titanium golf clubs and stuff.)  And you get to live in the beautiful Pacific Northwest.  If you know any young people who want a good, solid livlihood, send 'em this way!