'Murrica, part deux.
'Murrica, part deux.
Class went okay. At least one aspect of work I don’t feel too bad about. And I don’t even feel all that wiped out. Just need to refocus, forget defeatist feelings and try improving that article.
I’m feeling better, lungs seem to function again (in fact feel a bit hurty as if I’d gone for a run after ages, must be all the deep breaths I tried to take). And I’ve got just a little more till I’m finished with preps for tomorrow and can sleep.
Jokes aside, I’d rather be fat and feel okay than this. I keep feeling like I can’t get enough air into my lungs and am close to fainting.
Thinking I need to go see a doctor after class tomorrow.
Have eaten half a banana and 2 ricecakes today. This mysterious affliction could be working out fabulously for my weight loss goals. Or then again not, as I’m feeling too light-headed and weak to even consider exercise.
Uuuuuuurgh, awful night. Well the start was nice enough, but trying to fall asleep post-sex I started feeling increasingly unwell, first just strangely out of breath and light-headed, then kept getting the feeling I’d suffocate if I fell asleep, which led to the development of further panicky feelings, nausea, shivering, worrying I’ll faint etc. This went on for hours while I was supposed to get a good night’s sleep in order to spend the day preparing for class.
By now I’m thinking it’s some sort of stomach bug combined with a sleepy overreaction rather than a heart attack, but still.
I haven’t felt depressed lately, and I’ve coped with work demands relatively well by my standards, but on the other hand, I don’t think I have ever felt this persistently talentless and crap at writing. It’s getting in the way of work, as I’ve got things to finish, but have no faith in the results being worthwhile. OTL
Obvious causes are getting told to rework an article (still haven’t started) and the last conference presentation, made up of recycled ideas and finished the night before, which predictably ended up seeming passable, but no more than that.
BF bought a blood pressure monitor for his mother. As I figured, just the sound of one is stressing me out now, thanks to the intensive care experience.
On a related note, I think at least one of the scars has started to fade now, ever so slightly but still. The other 3 are still just as red/purple and angry-looking as they were though.