What’s Inside My Head?

I have always laughed that all the worrying I do would cause some sort of damage to my brain. You know, anxiety induced tumors or something. Because, then I need to
worry about that as well.

It was all fun and games until I found a bump on the back of my neck. I went to my doctor, and he ordered a full battery of tests. I’ll stop you from worrying right now. There was no tumor.

Instead, the doctors found something much more incredible and unexplainable. There is a pill-sized piece of something lodged between by brain and skull.

The doctors aren’t exactly sure what it is or how it got there (other than it probably has metallic properties since it showed up on X-rays). There is nothing in my medical history to suggest any sort of past injury that would have lodged an unknown object into my skull.

And… they can’t remove it since it seems to be fusing to my skull.

Diagnosis: (and this is no joke) it is a UFO – unidentified fused object.

The doctors have prescribed more testing partnered with constant monitoring.

So, I’m less than thrilled to become their new test subject, and now, I am beyond stressed out over what is in my head and how it got there.

I’ll keep you updated on their findings.


Stupid Anxiety – MBS

I always attempt to be positive, but…

Sometimes, all of life’s unexpected curveballs lead to Muddled Brain Syndrome.  Today, I am suffering from it.  It doesn’t even take a Major League Baseball pitcher kinda curveball.  It could be an unintentional pitch in “coach pitch” little league which can throw your brain patterns into a frenzy.

I spoke on the phone today.  (That should have been my first clue it was coming. Speaking on the phone often resembles pulling teeth to my introverted self.) The very nice gentleman (in charge of Deed Restrictions)  told me he had received phone calls about my property in the middle of a conversation about a completely different topic. That’s it.  That’s all it took.  After I hung up and processed our conversation, my day was ruined.

He did not specify that they were BAD phone calls.  It could have been phone calls getting approval to build my house – which would mean GOOD phone calls.  But, no – my brain has spiraled out of control over those two, little words… Phone.  Calls (that word being plural – meaning more than one call – probably meaning someone complaining). My “rule follower” mentality broke.

So, now, I’m pretty sure my future neighbors hate us already.  The Deed Restrictions people hate us already (although we haven’t done anything wrong).  I’m fat.  I’m broke.  I’m sick of living in a small space.  Why do I think I can help anyone else when I can’t even help myself.  I’m not good at anything.  Ugh!

And, even though I know none of this is in the least bit logical, I still feel overwhelmed and out of control.  Stupid anxiety.

This, too, shall pass, right?