Wittering

I was worried about ordering that striped top and skirt from Blackwood Castle since, as they’re in Canada and who knows what the tariff fuckery would be. But I did some digging through their site and discovered they opened a US warehouse in August! Between that and the fact that I sold some things on Poshmark recently, yeah, I’m probably going to buy the set.

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Fandom whining: I know fic writers are doing their own thing, but it’s always sad when a writer I’ve subscribed to migrates to a fandom I don’t care about, sometimes abandoning their other works in progress. Le sigh. 

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I think the new prescriptions are kicking in. I’m not coughing quite as much, and the Stroppy One said my breathing overnight didn’t sound as wet and crackling. I still get exhausted any time I get up from the couch AND I’m jittery from the steroids, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to sit in my office and get work done on Tuesday.

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Women of a Certain Age will understand this: with violent coughing comes the need for constantly changing pads, and I’m so tired of it. 

(no subject)

It has been decided that I’m NOT going to buy that stripy set from Blackwood Castle, because minim linked me to an eBay auction for a stunning piece of jewelry and reminded me that stripy goth clothes are relatively easy to find. I’m waiting for my Poshmark profits to hit PayPal, and then I’ll hit Buy It Now. 

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The Stroppy One has decided it’s necessary for him to remind me over and over that my #1 priority, my only chore right now, is to rest as much as possible. Especially because he leaves for a show on Thursday, so he won’t be around to look after me for a few days. Yes, the Madwoman in the Attic will be around, but our schedules are somewhat offset.

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Someone please remind me that my new boss asking if we need to set up some sort of medical accommodation for me for the next few weeks means she wants me to be okay, not that she’s annoyed I’m sick and this will be noted on my permanent record or something? Because I know my reaction is PTSD from previous bad managers, but the Brain Raccoons are doing their little song and dance, because of course they are.