You Asked...

OK, well maybe you didn't, but enough people asked me to let them know how my first appointment with my oculofacial surgeon went that I decided it would be too much work to individually update everyone (except my mom, because she's a mom).

So if you don't care about my medical journey with Graves and thyroid eye disease, try again next time. I promise my next post will be witty and sarcastic...so, the usual. For now, here goes:

When I Close My Eyes at Night, I See Dandelions

I'm not kidding. In case you missed the title of this post, I see dandelions when I close my eyes at night. They are officially my new pet peeve. I figure if dandelions are the biggest topic I can complain about, things are alright.

Every day, I go outside with this incredibly sharp tool called a dandelion weeder. Once, I accidentally poked Rags with it and was like, "Oh, sorry buddy," and he continued running around the yard like the psycho he is. The other day, I dropped it on my bare foot (yes, I'm a hippie now - I walk around barefoot) and it poked a nice deep hole into my second toe. Now I feel a little worse about stabbing Rags.

Two days of not weeding leads to this.

Anyway, these things creep up when you turn your back. Literally. I weeded (wode?) the entire yard of them on Saturday morning. By lunchtime, there were more. By Sunday, more. I planted gerber daisies around the tree in our front yard and they require daily watering. I have a mild case of OCD, so I can't go outside and water my flowers without stopping every two feet to stab a dandelion through the neck (er, root).

As a kid, I used to love holding them between my thumb and forefinger, and making a coin-tossing action with my thumb while saying in a sing-song voice, "Mama had a baby and its head popped off!" I don't know where we learned this, but my friends and I used to do this while playing outfield in little league. Probably why I ended up being a cheerleader...

I also used to love blowing on the de-flowered (aka slutty) ones and making "dandelion snow." Basically I just used to love dandelions. Now, I absolutely loathe them. They ruin otherwise pretty lawns. I realize this is the curse of any weed, but they are so damn ugly! My dad hates violets, and I'm not a fan of the wild ones taking over our lawn (thanks, neighbors) either, but at least they look like flowers. Dandelions are the carnations of weeds.

Massive dandelions at work.

I've become such a dandelion-murdering-expert that I can spot the plant before it's even flowered. So much so that when I close my eyes, I actually see the plant. When I walked into work this morning, I saw a dandelion so big that my skin crawled and I felt nauseous. I should be thankful that I don't have to weed dandelions the size of my dog, but apparently neither do the people responsible for the campus landscaping, because this one has obviously been allowed to grow since 1928 when the college opened. Would it be really weird if I carried my dandelion weeder in my purse (or lunchbox?) and, when no one is looking, kill the mofo? I would dispose of the corpse appropriately. But it really sets me off. I'm doing better with my rage blackouts, but don't let me find a dandelion in your yard.

As I was leaving work, I found a
decapitated dandelion on the
sidewalk. Apparently, I'm not the
only one who hates them.

Let's Get One Thing Straight

When I say I'm spending a weekend doing nothing, what I really mean is that I'm going to stack upward of 2,000 pieces of wood, dig up 150 weeds and rake 1/3 of our huge lawn.

The wood pile before

The wood pile during

The wood pile after

The wood-stacking-thingamajig before

The wood-stacking-thingamajig during

The wood-stacking-thingamajig after

So, when I say I'm going to spend a weekend doing nothing, and when I really mean it, let me be a sloth for two days. Rags, on the other hand, was completely useless. He got comfortable where I was stacking the wood, so I told him to move. He got up and walked to the other end of the wood-stacking-thingamajig (I think a need a new name for this unit - it sounds like it stacks the wood itself. I wish!). I punished him by taking him to the groomer. He is much more handsome now.

PS - Because I always give credit where credit is due, I did this all alone (unless you count the moral support I got from Rags). However, my brother tackled another wood pile on his own while I putzed around the yard picking up random leaves, twigs and land mines because I have undiagnosed OCD.

Sloth Disease

Working for a Catholic college can be overwhelming and frustrating at times, but it also has its perks. Like a four-day weekend for Easter and a week off between Christmas and New Year's. I left the office at 12:30 today and don't have to be back until 8:30 Tuesday morning. What do I plan to with my time? Nothing. I felt guilty for like half a second last night when I told my Dad that and he said, "That's what you did last weekend." But then I remembered last weekend I felt like death so I was in a coma for most of it.

My dad is at our cottage in upstate New York until Sunday night. He brought his dog, Shaggy, so Rags and I plan on sleeping in and being our regular "chill" selves. Rags is much more calm without his little brother around. He isn't being nasty and guarding his 34 toys.

I'm going out to the Boston area sometime on Sunday and will head back here Monday morning. But until Sunday, I have nothing to do. There's no one I have to see, so in reality, I could wear the same underwear until then. I won't, but I could. It's a nice feeling. Pretty soon, I'm going to have several weekend work commitments, so you'd think I'd want to do something awesome this weekend like travel or do a big project. Nope. I'll continue to work on sanding down the desk and chair I bought. I'll probably spend some time doing yardwork. But mostly, I'll take lots of naps, cuddle with Rags, and enjoy the beautiful weather that's supposedly on tap.

Confession: I Have Rage Blackouts

My boss and I had a meeting in downtown Springfield last week. We decided to take one car to save gas, and she said she hoped I didn't mind her dogmobile. She has two large, shedding dogs. Actually, I mind. I wore all black that day and since I love dogs but not dog fur (it's so nice having a dog that doesn't shed), I offered to drive. Big mistake.

If you've ever driven in any city, you know how it is. We were running late, so I was white-knuckled and nodding and "mmmhmmm"-ing as she talked, hoping she wouldn't notice my building frustration with idiot drivers. Finally, my rage took over and I shouted, "Get out of the way, you idiot!" At least I said idiot instead of something else. I turned to her and confessed, "Um, I might have road rage." She is a hilarious person, so she just laughed. But I realized my road rage is getting out of control. A lot of people with Graves disease refer to their Graves rage. I think it's a real thing. Combine that with being a certified Masshole, and I'm a force to be reckoned with behind the wheel.

My brother and I went to a free yoga class two weeks ago. Afterward, some horrible driver in front of me was going about 20mph in a 35mph zone. I yelled at him (as if he could hear) and my brother said, "So much for the yoga." I quickly defended myself and said, "I'd be calm if it he wasn't driving like that." In some ways, that was true. I am not a psycho walker or a crazy treadmill user or stressed out shopper. Yes, dumb people annoy me, but living in the South for almost five years taught me that if you're in a rush, you're out of luck. I learned to go to the grocery store when I had two hours to kill and to go workout when I felt like walking across the gym 15 times because people were not using the circuits the way they are supposed to. So, I feel like I've learned patience. Learned, not mastered. But when it comes to driving, I have none.

I keep promising an explanation as to why I don't have a thyroid. I'll get there eventually. Long story short: I have Graves disease. It's hereditary, but no one on either side of my family has any history of thyroid disease. Well, things have to start somewhere, and it's thought that the people who develop Graves are Type A, high-strung, and experiencing some extreme, acute stress. I was diagnosed in February 2010, after nine months of a job I absolutely despised that caused me to question my place on earth regularly (I wasn't suicidal, but I hated my life because of my job). I was so sick at first that I was banned from exercise because instead of burning fat, my body was burning muscle and guess what the biggest muscle is? I wasn't really pining for a heart attack at 25. My doctor said I could do gentle yoga and walk Rags, but nothing more. After being a competitive athlete my whole life, I laughed at him. Yoga? Hippies and incense? Pshhh...

Fast forward two years, and I have been infatuated with yoga off-and-on since then. I never got into a routine. My work and volunteer schedule was always too busy and sporadic to commit. In fact, I can't commit to anything. But last night, I made a commitment to be at the yoga studio every Tuesday night for the next five weeks for 75-minute classes. It was a proud moment for me, because I wouldn't even commit to a job (like, I wouldn't sign a contract for a job that demanded I work there until a certain date) let alone a yoga class. Afterward, the instructor came up to me and asked my story. She said she was so glad to have me there. Has she driven behind/in front of/next to me? How does she know how badly I need yoga in my life? I almost had a rage blackout when she asked the class to give a word or two about why they decided to take the course. At first, people said things like, "Peace" or "I need to slow down." But then people started going off on tangents about their personal lives and whatnot. I stared at the ceiling and eventually closed my eyes and breathed deeply, and ignored Susie Jo's story three-minute story about why she likes yoga. When she was done, I smiled and finally the class started. See? I'm learning!

TV Rants

I have something to say, and it's really too short for a blog post but too long for a Facebook update so here goes...

*Spoiler alert: Do not continue reading if you are an avid Mad Men or Army Wives fan and have not yet watched last night's (April 1) episodes. Also, don't bother reading if you don't care about my opinions on these shows.

Also, I have no commentary on Games of Thrones season premiere because A. I don't have HBO and B. I'm a nice sister, so I'm waiting for my brother so we can watch it together.

*Update: We watched Games of Thrones. I still have no commentary because it was amazing, as expected, and true to the book (A Clash of Kings for you silly geese who should know better).