Oof.

I messed up my ankle again last week. I was leaving Laura's, stepped on a paver stone in the grass, lost my balance, my ankle gave, and down I went. My ankle hurt so bad Laura had to help me into my car, and Aaron had to come out to help me get into the house when I got home. It took until Friday night for my stubborn self to face the fact that I'd messed it up pretty badly again, and wrap it up and ice it. It's starting to feel better, but I'm back to square one on workouts again, and wondering how I got here. It will be at least 2-3 months before I can even think about running, at which point most of the summer will be finished.

The bottom line; I need to take better care of myself. This probably wouldn't have happened if I'd been doing lunges and squats regularily like I'm supposed to be, and if I spent more time running and less time doing 16 ounce curls. I've been ridiculously stressed out too, and I know I'll manage my stress better if I'm exercising. I'm going to have to get serious about finding a gym, since Lifetime is definitely not in my budget anymore. I'd rather eat fire than go to the LA Fitness on University, so I'm going to check out the one in Roseville, and check out Anytime.

I also really need to eat better. I can tell I'm drinking too much caffeine again by the heartburn, so I'm nixing my afternoon soda and limiting myself to coffee 4 days a week. Hopefully if I wean some of the acid out of my system and get some probiotics in me I'll stop needing to pop pepcid twice a day.

No need to comment on the fact that I'm not giving up alcohol though.

Ow.

Aaron and I spent all weekend working on the basement. Aaron pulled the carpet off the stairs (along with the 6 million staples the previous owners had attached it with) and dismantled the drop ceiling. I worked on scraping the carpet glue off the floor and cleaning them, and vacuuming the ceiling after the drop ceiling was out. Then we put down a 120 sq ft of utility tiles and shifted everything in the basement onto the tiles.

The net effect is that the basement is cleaner, smells better, and Aaron and I are both so sore we can barely move. With my next paycheck I'm going to buy a bunch more tiles, and we're going to start framing up the walls. Once that's done, we can start rearranging furniture. When it's all finished we'll have an actual spare bedroom upstairs with a king size bed, and a bar area in the basement along with our office. it's going to be wonderful.

Until then, ow.

It only gets weirder.

Only I could have blended family problems with cats.

When Aaron moved in, his two cats came with him. Xanadu is doing fantastic. She's settled in, she's eating and laying in windows, and aside from a few domestic disputes with Doyle, doing awesome.

Baloo is not. He refuses to eat. We were able to coax him to eat by cycling through different kinds of food, giving him attention, etc., but at the end of last week he started refusing to eat anything. Monday morning he went into the vet, and spent two days getting IV fluids and meds. He's jaundiced, and while fatty liver from not eating is the likely culprit, it's always possible he has some other type of liver infection/disease.

He's home now, with a stack of meds we have to give him everyday and we have to watching him like a hawk to make sure he doesn't get dehydrated again, and he keeps eating. Luckily my vet is willing to work with me on supportive care issues to keep expenses down. If he does start getting dehydrated they'll let me give him fluids at home and willing to teach me how to tube feed him if necessary to keep nutrition in him. But what I really wish, is that they'd given me the prescription for the kitty prozac.