14,723 Days Alive
$485.54 Or More Needed ASAP to Pay Bills and Get My Account into the Positive
-$269.28 in the Bank.
10 Days to Pay My Car Insurance
1 Asthma Attack Last Night
Man. I need to find an anti-evil eye hanger or something for my bedroom. Or cast another spell on the full moon on the 5th of November. Something to get out of this death roll.
Money sucks. I need to get money to make money and I hate it. My insurance payment is $151.68 and I am negative just shy of $270. Spock needs more kitty food, and I need another bottle of Excedrin tension headache. I still haven’t formally established my LLC, because, again, that whole money thing.
Okay, so! Story time: apparently, you’re supposed to let your family/housemates know when you’re not feeling well, even if it is the middle of the night? Lucian and Brian were confused why I didn’t wake them last night when J had my asthma attack. Legit: I didn’t know I was supposed to??? Just, flat out: it didn’t occur to me.
In my defense: my dumb, trauma-riddled brain would rather swan dive off a cliff rather than being perceived as inconvenient. J, Chelé, Reff? If they lived closer, sure. But it was just shy of two a.m. It was just shy of two a.m. and I had a fresh inhaler. It was just shy of two a.m., I had a fresh, non-expired, completely full inhaler that I did take and it helped. No, there was no obvious trigger for it, either. Just, bam! Wheezing, randomly coughing to the point of seeing stars and sipping water not helping at all.
I ended up awake until five a.m. because while albuterol/Ventolin is a bronchodilator, not an inhaled steroid, it gives me the shakes. Also, I am always nervous to go to sleep after an asthma attack. I prop myself up in bed, make sure my fingernail beds don’t show signs of hypoxia, and monitor my breathing/dizziness.
In any case, Lucian has asked me to be more communicative in the future. Mostly because of his adoptive paternal grandmother’s cause and timeline of her demise. She wasn’t feeling well one day, decide to ignore it, and then never woke up. Weeks to months in a coma, just… gone. Since I don’t want anyone to have to find my corpse, I said I would work on it.
I am stressed to the point of nausea. I’m just going to crochet and pray something good happens in the next week to week and a half.
Take your meds, folks.
Postmark Wonderland 