#BLESSED *insert sarcastic overtone here*

I might be dying.  Probably not.  But right now it definitely feels like it.

Sunday I had a fantastic first experience with an anaphylactic reaction to mixed nuts.   Nope.  Never had a nut allergy before so that was an amazing surprise.

Today I decided to experiment and had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.  (I feel I need to explain there were no peanuts in the mixed nuts from Sunday so I had a reasonable expectation that I was only allergic to tree nuts and not ground nuts, or whatever you call them. This was not the case.) I haven’t stopped leaking and sneezing since. Luckily I have not had the itchy mouth and swollen throat and asthma attack like I did Sunday so I’m still in denial hoping I can enjoy peanut butter and just chalk this up to a horridly allergen-ful Michigan spring. 

I have taken two fexofenadine and one cetirizine and have now added a benadryl to that count because NOTHING IS WORKING. 

I fully expect my children to regale me with tales of strange utterances and  ridiculous requests upon waking in the morn. This is assuming I survive the eve and remain among the living.  



I have, on this site, four unpublished drafts of things I started to write then was either interrupted or I decided I did not want to finish what I had started. Three are several sentences long, one almost a paragraph. The fourth is only half a sentence: “I promised there…” I’m not entirely sure what the fourth was going to be. It was started a year ago so my memory may have fuzzed a bit.

I constantly start things and they sit a while before I get back to them. Recently though I have been finishing things. I finished the Icelandic sweater I started knitting last year and I finished a book I’d been reading off and on for a few years. It is not a bad book. It is a rather good book. The problem was with me. Every time I would start reading it again some major life crisis would happen and I’d set it down in favor of something easier, something fluffier and something not quite as deep. These fluffy books wouldn’t satisfy me however, and I would find myself craving more and more. They were snacks. This other book was a meal.

I recently found myself in a relatively less stressful place in my life so I decided to try again. At first I was afraid something would happen to prevent me, once again, from finishing the book. But nothing happened. I finally finished it. And I feel a bit more me than I have in quite a few years.

You see, I used to eat books. I would devour four or five in a month. Then I had a [insert┬ámajor life event here] and everything fell apart. I couldn’t concentrate on anything anymore. More things happened in the five years that followed. I fell into deep dark depressions and high anxiety that prevented me from eating at one point for 3 months. (Seriously, nothing tasted good. Nothing. When I had recovered I had lost 50 pounds and most of my mind.)

I’ve gotten better since then. I’m not whole. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. But I’m more me than I’ve felt in the past 6 years. I’m taking an out of country vacation at least once every year, I’m reading more books that have substance to them, I’m not depending on someone else (I could write pages and pages on how this has changed my perspective in life) I’m writing a book (though it’s slow-going and my confidence has been shaky at best) and I think I’m getting to a place where I can trust my decision making skills.

I’m not quite there.

I may need to rewrite this draft a few times.

But I see my life headed in a direction that could lead somewhere I like.

And that’s huge.

I’m going to color tonight

Because the world is scary

I’m going to color tonight

Because I can’t do much about it

I’m going to color tonight 

Because if I can add just one small ray of sunshine

Then I know

That the world is not as scary

As it was before

page from You Are Here by Jenny Lawson