the health of a zombie.

This past week bore a lot of bad news for me.  I guess something had to counter my hockey team winning Nationals?  Which I’ll never forget, despite nearly getting my lights knocked out in Game 3 and suffering the consequences of that hit the rest of the weekend.  But it was a series of health concerns that were “resolved” afterwards that brought me down.  “Resolved” because they know what’s wrong, but in quotes because the problems either can’t be resolved yet or are never going to be resolved.

I guess the saddest part about the news (despite having to put off a surgery to afford it) is that I’ve been diagnosed with Meniere’s Disease.  In reality, I should realize that my condition could be so much worse.  The problem with my hearing loss COULD be a tumor.  Instead, it’s just excess brain fluids on one side of my head.  But I can no longer enjoy music the same, hear people when they whisper, be around high pitches without getting an instant migraine, or make turns in dance class without seriously struggling to stay on my feet.  Yep, the imbalance issue is probably the hardest to overcome.  And the looming threat that my condition could worsen.  Without any way to cure it.

It’s funny how I used to use My Fitness Pal to obsessively check my vitamin levels, calorie input versus output, etc.  It felt so stressful at the time but I realize now it was a different kind of stress.  It was self-induced and it was stress I placed on myself for self-improvement.

Now it just feels like survival stress.

I can no longer indulge in cheese and not read labels.  I know I would have restricted cheese in the past by choice, read labels by choice even, but now that choice is taken away – if I want to keep my hearing levels up.  Snacking on my box of Trefoil cookies, I have to keep a constant tally on a sheet of paper every time I pull one out so I can count how many milligrams of sodium I ate and record it on my app.

Yeah, it’s not diabetes.  It’s not allergies.  It’s not a lot of things.  But after being so happy this weekend and seeing things taper off so rapidly – back into a similar funk to where I was before – it kind of makes me slump more than I’d expect.

Especially when my work hours are longer than usual.  And my apartment, which I’ve hardly seen in the last two months, is messy and full of dirty laundry that I just haven’t been around to take care of.  Or I come home and pass out.

It’s so hard to feel motivated right now.  But it’s scary when I get emotionless and zombie-like.  That happened in February.  I spaced out.  I was spaced out most of March, too.  Then, yesterday, I was the last person in the office and I just started bawling at my computer screen.  For no reason.  And again while driving.  That’s about the third time this week I started crying while driving.  It’s like I can’t find the time alone to do it anywhere else.  (And it’s kind of a dangerous, blinding habit…which requires sunglasses to hide the shame if a passerby looks over and sees loony me.)

So, boohoo, I can’t eat cheese.  Or loads of sauerkraut.  And I have a national title.  My life is sooo hard, right?

On the upswing, I bought a planner and I’m trying to crack down on myself.  It’s time to get things in order.

I’m excited for my debut with the Heather Belles, a violin piece I was asked to play with a group, and the possibility that I will begin volunteering with the Cleveland Clinic soon.  Not to mention, I’m joining a gym.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?  I swore to never…

the least expected.

I really like things that are the least expected.

I’ve gotten accustomed to always expecting the least out of anyone.  I figure if I don’t have any faith in them, I don’t have to worry about ever being disappointed.  But what kind of life is it to have no faith in your friends?  To never have any expectations?  Admittedly, anticipation  keeps me moving forward.  Expectation must be a part of that anticipation.

But what about when the least expected isn’t a good expectation at all.  Like when I am in the most exciting moments of my life and the people who I want to actively partake just trudge on with their ordinary lives and think they’re making up for it by occasionally asking me how I am.  Like when I’m at Nationals for hockey and you don’t need to text me because there is online streaming, results, and a half dozen free apps that could keep you updated without asking.  And asking just proves to me that you’re not paying a damn bit of attention to something that’s important to me.

Yet what I didn’t expect was the numerous people who have texted me, messaged me, whatever-ed me and proved to me that they are up to date, that they are paying attention.  People who are so far away, too!  There is no one in my office at work who is paying much attention to my tournament, the people who see me the most and – in some cases – are the closest to me, yet I’m getting text messages from Colorado, SnapChats from Hawai’i, messages from Germany,… so many other people going out of their way to care about me.

I didn’t expect that.  And I know that part of being a long distant friend is taking a little extra effort to maintain that friendship, but when someone is close and takes advantage of that…thinking that means they don’t need to try as much, even if it’s subconscious,…well, forget that.  Just FORGET that.  You don’t mean anything.  Not in the long run.  And that’s the only run that matters.