Today I'm seeing someone for some knee rehab. His knee, not mine. While it's good for me re experience and all that shit, poor guy, he coulda hired someone soooo much more experienced than I, and paid a lot less. Actually, his mum paid. He's a kid, kinda. Is a nineteen year old still a kid? No matter, his age makes it still more stressful for me than if he was older than dirt and this is, after all, about me, not him. Oy.
The good thing though, is that he's booked with me because the rest of the trainers there suck butt. I'm really not up myself and I'm totally not kidding. These guys suck. Some of the shit they hand out to other clients? Good god. Like, the Big Shit of trainers there hands out the most ludicrous stuff as back rehab exercises. He's creating
back injuries fgs. I wish people who had injury issues wouldn't sign up with The Shittiest Gym In TownTM
. I wish they'd go somewhere where the majority of trainers had a frikkin clue.
I work there for several reasons, and most of them are to do with self esteem. I don't have any of it. One argument is that at least I know I have a clue so clients who book and are lucky enough to get me (holding up my enormous head is taxing my resources) are also lucky enough to get a lot of explanations, a lot of information, a lot of technique and a program that actually works. Also, I'm the best personal trainer there. If I left and went to a gym that wasn't so shitty, I'd be the crappiest. I don't wanna be crappy. Although, maybe I'm not crappy at all? Maybe it's just a self esteem issue, this feeling crappy thing? Whatever it is, I don't want to feel
like I'm crappy, and I'm also too wussy to actually look elsewhere.
The Bowen business is slowly getting a leg up. No clients yet, but a lot of talk and my name is getting known at both gyms I work at. Having Aria's studio to work from is going to be a benefit as, understandably, people are leery when you offer only a mobile service. I guess it seems more professional to have a premises. I think so anyway.
My vision is to rent (own?) a home with a room that could be used as a studio. A room with its own entrance even. This is the first time I've actually let myself see what I want, so this vision thing is a good thing.
I've been on thyroid hormones for ooh, two and a half years? And my hair has been falling out since I went on them. It had thinned a bit before but grown back a bit too. Now? Jeebus gosh, now it will not stop. I've got to the point where if a handfull falls out, I'm all, yeah, whatever. I've been weaning off these hormones for more than eighteen months, at 2.5mg at a time. Yes, milligrams. I take pig thyroid, not because the dumbarse doctors thought it would be a good idea, but because I got so ill on thyroxine that I wanted to die. Ill as in depressed ill. Ill as in I wanted to die ill. I cried at fucking everything, and felt so desperate that no one believed it was the thyroxine, and not me
behind the depression. And that made me cry some more. I was pretty obsessed with finding something different, so did my research and found a doctor here who would prescribe this pig stuff. I shit you not, within two days of the changeover, a light came on and the depression lifted. Any change in thyroid levels can precipitate a shed, and this change sure as shit did. It recovered a bit, faltered a bit, recovered some more-but since it began shedding last February, as a consequence of surgery the preceding November. it has not stopped. I said that already, huh? There were such promising fuzzlets before then too. *sigh*.
Anyway, I'm down from 135mg and am on, to date, 10mg. I just did a vague out thing and nearly flooded my house again, and that scares me. I turned on a tap, wandered off and forgot to turn it off, so now I'm all worried that maybe I can't get off this evil hairfalling out hormoney shit because I'm hypothyroid on 10mg.
Thing is, while my TSH goes down on exogenous hormones, my fT4 and fT3 levels stay stubbornly at the low end of the range. I figure I'd rather be hypo on my own hormones than on something I have to take every fucking day. The vagueness is (could be? hopefully is?) due to my stupid diet too. I so have to get a handle on the shit I eat. I know
I feel better when I'm eating better. So why do I persist with the crappy eating? Why do I want to make myself feel bad. Hmm....
I just stuck a thermometer in my armpit to check my temperature. If it's low, I plan on worrying some more. Then again, why not just continue with the worrying I'm already doing? I know my temperature is going to be low, it always is. I should just throw away the thermometer and use that energy to worry some more. Now, that's
It's 36C. Like I thought it would be any different. I'll go with plan A, which was to recommence worrying. The only flaw in this plan is the 're' in 'recommence'.
I googled, you know, to confirm my worst fears and what's that? The normal average temperature by mouth is 37C, normal average armpit
temperature is 36.5C? Yes, of course I the damn thermometer is in my stupid mouth this very minute....and....it's out of my mouth and showing (drumroll please) 36.8C.
I like to think of my worrying as a form of mental gymnastics, and mental gymnastics keep one's mind sharp so at this rate, I'm never gonna go senile.
Another thing: I've had three heavy duty Bowen sessions since last Friday. Doh. Bowen can make you feel like you've been hit by a truck for a day or three, which is a good
thing cuz it means your body is putting all that energy into healing.
My cat likes zucchini. Is that weird? I think it's weird. Of course, I once had a cat who prefered cucumber to Snappy Tom. I had to chop it up real fine for her, and she'd eat it with her front teeth. Totally fucking cute. Then there was Mischa with his thing for rockmelon. And Coby with her thing for cruciferous vegetables....hmm....
I wormed Hollie this morning, and geebus, you'd think I was trying to kill her. Getting the damn paste down her damn throat left me with cat fur down my own throat. That cat sheds more than any cat I've ever met. Never, ever get a grey and white cat, not unless you wear a lot of grey and white and you're able to train each hair to stay in its designated grey or white area. Anyway, I left the worm paste syringey thingy on the floor while I distracted myself by hacking up a furball-and she licked it clean. Well then, waddya know? I thought cats didn't like that shit, hence the instructions to wrestle with your cat to get the job done. I thought I had to force the shit down her contrary little throat. Next time I'm going to open the packet and let her go for it.
Holy cow, is this entry loaded with inane crap or what?
Okay, here we go then. Interesting titbit of information #1: I see the reproductive endorcrinologist tomorrow. I'll carry on with the worrying, shall I?