Category — Mind

Hey guys.

Remember when I told you my weekend plans? We went a little crazy.

See, The Man bought me a king-sized mattress for our four-year anniversary and I was infinitely happy. (Even more so because he gave it to me the day I got home from my week-long work trip to Orlando, after which I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for 20 hours.)

So after that we decided to keep our old mattress since it was in great condition. Besides, we figured our family and friends who come to visit us would appreciate the upgrade from the couch. (You’re all welcome.)

Anyhow, this weekend we decided to turn our office into an office slash bedroom. But once we started moving things we thought: Hey, while we’re at it, why not clean our entire storage closet and get rid of some of our clutter? Isn’t that what all married couples do on perfectly nice July Saturdays?

Right now, there are two things you should know about me:

1. I’m a neat freak.
2. Clutter makes me anxious.

[Read more →]

Somewhere deep down in The Man, there is a vulnerable, sensitive guy. Science told me so.

Sometimes I’ll poke fun of a study because the researchers spent mullah to discover something incredibly obvious. (It’s genius, of course. Which is why I’m soliciting funding to determine whether water is healthier than Tang.)

Today, though, I’ll tell you about a study that shocked me. Nah, it didn’t find that steak cures headaches—though that’d be nice because I’m craving a steak right now and have a massive headache. (What else is new? My brain hates me and I’m considering that brainectomy idea.)

Anyhow, I read about a study today that found men are more affected by the ups and downs in a relationship than women are. Yeah, men.

Maybe you’re not shocked, but I stunned that guys benefit from the happy times—and feel the pain of the bad times—more than women.

Apparently after a big fight, while you’re stuffing your face into a pint of Chubby Hubby, your spouse is doing the same. Only probably not literally since guys don’t have that drown-your-feelings-in-sugar gene. But he’s mentally gorging his inner chick.

The researchers guess that women can better handle the relationship pits because they have strong relationships with friends and family. But guys don’t get all emotional with their pals, so if your relationship with them sours, so does their life. (Maybe that’s too dramatic, but I think it’s true.)

Anyhow, when life sucks, women call their girlfriends and vent for four hours straight. Guys grunt, tell their buddy chicks suck, then talk sports. So I can see why the whole relationship thing is so important for men. Even if they’d never, ever admit it. Ever.

Or, you know, guys are more sensitive than I give them credit for.

Does that surprise you? Could you ever in five gazillion years imagine that your husband or boyfriend would be feeling the hurt in your relationship more than you?

Yesterday I told you all about my Charlottesville wine tour with The Man. I’m pretty sure some of you were jealous. To make you feel better, I’ll remind you that I have Runner’s Knee in both knees, Achille’s tendonitis, and plantar fasciitis. There, I don’t seem so cool now, do I?

I also told you I’d describe our ride home. Instead of shooting north to D.C., The Man and I took the scenic route. We drove 75 miles of Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park, which took about four hours with the amount we stopped to take in the views and spot deer. (The Man tried to snap a picture of one, but deer are faster than The Man.)

So, we spent one more night in Charlottesville. [Read more →]

photo by gibson claire mcguire regester

You think you can do whatever to your brain and it’ll just take it. You’d be wrong. I found out the hard way.

I’m no stranger to headaches. I get my constant brain tremors from my mother (thanks, mom) who is also dear, close friends with Excedrin. And yes I called them brain tremors. It’s the most honest description I’ve got, mkay?

But on Wednesday I was assaulted somewhere between my hypothalamus and medulla oblongata. (And, yes, I did just want to write medulla oblongata. It’s got to the best body part.) My brain was revolting. Bigtime.

To be honest, I kind of deserved it. I have been staring at a lit-up screen for 11 hours a day—long enough for my ears to forget the machine even made a hum. It was like air: unnoticeable until it was gone.

So my brain put it’s metaphorical foot down. Though it didn’t feel metaphorical. It felt like it stomped its foot right into my grey matter. I could barely open my eyes, but if I did—to, you know, avoid walking into walls—I was pierced with a million little knives. Straight through the eyes.

I’m not sure if it was a normal migraine (mine are usually more like mini strokes) or just a massive, awful, killer headache, but it was bad. And it hung on Thursday, too.

Then I did something so unlike me. I took a sick day. I never take a sick day. I’ll pretty much go to work no matter how deathly I feel because of the massive guilt I get from taking a sick day. (I did, however, take off back in 2008 when I puked in a box in The Man’s car on the way to work. Sorry for that image.)

You know what? It’s just what I needed: A day away from the computer and the eye strain that comes with it. A day to sleep in and let my eyes rest. A day to force my head to stop pounding and pounding and pounding.

Which leads me to a Yoda-like tip as you head out on your weekend:

Overloaded, most of our brains are.

May you enjoy a weekend of brain rest and relaxation. Do something outside. Read a book. Visit with friends. We spend so much of our lives perched in front of the computer, why not take a break?

I’m doing just that. The Man and I have a fun weekend planned. Expect a recap next week. Until then, over and out.

What are your weekend plans?

photo by evil erin
Yup, that’s what my hair looks like always.

Confession: I’ve been swamped with work this weekend.

Reality: This post is much lamer than it should be.

Hope: You’ll forgive and forget.

Because I’m still in a mad dash to complete work that needs to get done right now, I’m leaving you with some interesting reads.

The New York Times ran an interview with Dr. Vijay Vad, who just wrote a book about easing chronic pain without meds. As you can imagine, this captured my attention because a) I’m blessed with chronic pain, and b) meds have failed me. It also piggybacks on our discussion of alternative meds last week.

This Fit Sugar roundup of celebrity trainer tweets is worth reading for all the wrong reasons. You probably won’t walk away with any valuable knowledge, but you’ll see why celeb trainers are worth following on Twitter. And the reason is: So you don’t miss jems like this: “Take a long deep breath. Let it go. Take another. Repeat all day.” So that’s why I’ve been passing out…

I like the idea of helping charities, but as you all know, 5Ks aren’t my thing. Neither are 1Ks in case you’re interested. I blame the knees. Anyhow, I had to laugh at this article on sleeping for charity. Do you know how much money I could raise if I were paid by the hour of sleep? A lot.

Whatdya think … wanna donate to the Tracey Sleeps for (fill in charity)? If you’re on Twitter, do you follow any celeb trainers that give good tips?

photo by migraine chick
I realize I’m on a Barbie kick recently. I’m not sure why.

So glad you all enjoyed this month’s Q&A. I always think learning about the person behind the blog is fun. And I can’t always work details into each post—though I’m sure I could have figured out a way to tell you about my former CIA dreams at some point. (By the way, good thing I chose writing. I don’t think I’d be much of an agent without the ability to run. Or walk.)

Today I was thinking about alternative therapies. Don’t ask me why. I’m not sure how my brain works half the time.

Anyhow, I was never a big believer in alternative medicine. Up until a few years ago, I swore by pills and tried-and-true treatments to cure me. I looked to Western medicine first for my knees, too. I tried icing and anti-inflammatories. I tried physical therapy, which I still do. And ultrasound. And cold laser therapy.

That’s when I schedule an appointment for acupuncture. Here’s where you’d expect me to say it cured me. (Let me just imagine that for a minute, mkay? A little longer…) OK, I’m back from that fantasy. I’ll get this out of the way fast: It didn’t work.

But that’s not my point. The point is that it took daily excruciating pain to get me to open my mind and get an alternative treatment. Since then, I’ve gone on to try prolotherapy and platelet-rich plasma injections. They’re on the fringes of current medical therapy, but they’re helping me. [Read more →]

photo by D Sharon Pruitt

There was a giant cul-de-sac bordered by a weedy field that rose to a hill at the far reaches of our neighborhood. You could get there by turning onto Yankee Hill Road about a mile down the hill, at the white house where all the kids went to get candy and 50-cent coins from the old woman who lived inside. On your way, you’d pass a brown Colonial with an above-ground pool and a top-secret fort in the backyard. That’s where you’d find Kim. My best friend.

When we were younger, we’d hop on our bikes and circle the cul-de-sac until we got dizzy or bored, then we’d race down the hill, sometimes with no hands. Or we’d sit squarely in the middle of the circle—because no cars drove down that far—and talk about the things second graders talk about. I could tell what Kim was thinking without words, not because I was special but because we were friends. And that’s what friends do, right?

Maybe not.

There was an article in the New York Times that got me thinking about childhood friendships. It mentioned a recent study that found half of all American teens send 50 or more text messages a day. (Among other tech stats, like the fact that most kids don’t know what a land line is. Kidding. I think.) The writer and the experts she interviewed wondered whether technology is changing what friendship means. Instead of talking face-to-face, teens are texting or leaving messages on each other’s Facebook walls.

And now for the priceless quote:

[Read more →]

photo by D Sharon Pruitt

Well, I’m back. Apparently my skull-splitting headache wasn’t fatal and I will live to see another headache-free day. Phew. That was a close call seeing as last night I was convinced I’d never be rid of the slicing pain. And if you missed my post yesterday about 10 ways to fight headaches, check it out. There are some really good tips in the comments. (I love my readers.)

So, go figure, it’s Wednesday. Normally I’d say that with a deep sigh but today I’m all peppy (couldn’t you tell that through the Internet? Nope? Hm.) because I only have one more day of work till I head to Buffalo for my friend’s wedding. I’m still at that stage where going to friends’ weddings are fun and not a chore. Gimme a few more years and several more weddings, and I might be saying this with a sigh.

The reason I really love going to friends’ weddings (aside from, you know, the wedded bliss the married couple will know from now until eternity; and if you’re married you know I say this sarcastically) is that I get to catch up with my college buddies. These are the girls I traveled throughout New Zealand with. In case you don’t know what it’s like to live in New Zealand for six months with a great group of friends, it goes something like this*: [Read more →]

photo by migraine chick
Funny, that’s how I feel.

I was just wondering what to write about today when the idea struck. It hit me right in the face—between the eyeballs, if you really want to know. No one told me this is what it felt like to be visited by the muse.

So, what better topic than headaches. (No, we won’t discuss the perpetual headaches in your life. We’ll get to kids and husbands at a later date.) Instead, I thought I’d provide you with a list of ways to get rid of a headache. I’m practically an expert after all. Lucky me.

1. Meds. Kind of self-explanatory, huh? Here are my thoughts on headache meds: They’re great if you get a headache once a year or even once a month, but when your skull is on the verge of exploding weekly these probably won’t do much. Take it from me. Excedrin loses its potency if you pop it all the time. Ahem, not that I used to do that or anything. On the flip side, now that I’m not taking any anti-inflammatories (because I’m getting PRP), one dose kills my headache on contact.

2. Sleep. Sure, you say, it’s not easy to get to sleep while little gnomes try to drill through your skull from the inside out. But if the room is dark enough and quiet enough you might be able to lull those brain gnomes to bed at the same time as you. Things go faster if you put a cold wash cloth over your eyes.

3. Shower. A long, hot shower sometimes makes my ache disappear … or at least die down a bit. If I follow this with a nap, I can usually cut the pain in half. Usually. [Read more →]

photo by d sharon pruitt

I was just about to start a post like this: I hate my knees. I hate my life. Wah.

OK, maybe it wasn’t going to be exactly like that, but you get the idea. Sometimes having a chronic injury sucks. And when the weather gets warmer it especially sucks. In winter, I was OK staying at home and doing nothing. The weather was too cold to leave the house anyway. Come spring? I want to get outside. I want to go for a walk in the park or window shop downtown. So, yeah, the whole knee-pain thing really gets to me and I start feeling bad for myself. But just as I was about to pour out virtual tears, I started thinking about June 2008.

June 2008 was my low point. My knees were in such pain, The Man would carry me from the couch to the kitchen in our 600-square-foot apartment. When The Man wasn’t home, I’d inch my way to the bathroom on the floor. Because making the 8-foot trip was too painful. I couldn’t brush my teeth standing up (thank goodness for long countertops). I’d get dressed sitting down. As soon as I got home from work, I’d pile four pillows under my feet and ice for an hour. I had to buy bigger jeans because my regular ones were too tight around my swollen knees.

Back in June 2008, The Man picked me up outside our apartment and dropped me off before parking the car—even though the parking space was a few feet away. (Good news: I became a pro at turning just about anything into a seat. Including but not limited to curbs, fire hydrants, a newspaper bin, and the floor. No shame, people.)

Looking back just two years, I see how far my knees have come. (You can read my entire, really long story here.) [Read more →]