Friday

My. Life. Is. Hell.

No sleep last night - or so it felt.  I recall dreaming that I was looking for a drafting product called "trace" - a roll of throwaway semi-translucent paper - so I had to have slept long enough to do that, but I know that dreams often occur in nano-second spurts, fully baked, so long enough might not have been all that long.

I give up.  I am going out at lunch to buy some sort of commercial anti-menopause product, because I cannot take it any more.  If this could last 10 years, it would outlast me.  I'm tired, I'm on the brink of weeping, and I have a full-time job that supports my family, so I can't just drop everything and crawl into a cave for a while, until this mess sorts itself out.  I will give the commercial product a month, and if the results don't show up, I will put in the prescriptions and start using them.

The scale said 147.8 this morning.  I didn't eat anything particularly unusual yesterday; dinner was a wedge salad with steak after about 3 chips worth of spinach-artichoke dip, and followed by two pieces of bark and two chocolate cherries.  If I'm truly gaining weight, it's the damn hormones doing it.

That's all.  I'm in no mood to provide chatty details today.