Cookies

So I'm living at home with my parents and baking cookies. That is my life now. It's been reduced to butter, flour and sugar. Pretty much.

I don't know what to blog about anymore. I thought maybe there would be a story in this baking of cookies, but there's not. And there isn't much else, either. I just bake cookies. Everyday. And tape labels onto bags. I feel kind of like a one-woman factory.

I indulge in cookie dough, and this is a problem. I've gained 20 lbs in the past 2 months, though I'm only back up to my original 125'ish weight, so I can't complain. Yet. But what if it's another 20 this Fall. And by winter I'll just commit health suicide. I'm already beginning to not care anymore. Not about being healthy, not about being skinny. It doesn't matter.

The cookie dough also inhibits my ability to do a 3rd annual FaceBook bikini picture this summer. If I do one, I might just let it all hang out, belly and all. I'll slouch a little. Not shave my armpits for a week before the shoot. And lift my arms while squatting, sumo style. It could be funny.

Who have I become?

I didn't even go outside today. I did briefly, to get something in my car, and it was hot as hell, and I was thankful for my parents' dark shaded home, which kept somewhat cool, though I slaved over a 400 degree oven all day, and got about 50 brief facial steams in opening the oven and bending my entire upper body impatiently into it's belly when retrieving cookie pans.

I played with my dogs - 3 miniature schnauzers. Two are puppies and recent additions to my parents' home. Elmer (the boy) and Dutchess (the girl). With our third dog Brody, these names match in first letters to my names. Erin Danielle Boyea. Elmer Dutchess Brody. I think my parents subconsciously gave these dogs these names because they love me more than my sister.

That was a joke. It's just a neat coincidence. But I do think my parents love me the most.

They have to. I bake them cookies (and many other things) everyday. I vacuum. I play with the dogs. I get the mail. I do the dishes.

My mom gets mad at me though when I outscore her on Dots on her iPad. She hasn't figured out how to predict where the dots will fall to make a square.

I guess that's it. I'm still watching Bob Ross on Netflix. He makes me feel calm. The anxiety comes at night and I'm tired of running away from it. I sit through the cold sweats and focus on paint. How it all comes together in a picture. I contemplate the beauty of life for those who find and master their gifts.

I looked up Bob Ross the other day to see how old he is. I guess he died in '95. Some form of cancer I think. Maybe from all the paint fumes. I don't know.

I thought I'd be playing music this summer, but the cookies took over. Until my administrative leave paychecks from my last job suddenly came to an end 2 weeks ago. I won't be able to purchase ingredients to bake cookies much longer. I'm already giving away more cookies than I sell from each batch. If I'd known my paychecks would abruptly end I'd never have invested in starting this cookie baking business. I'd have let my paychecks go into a savings account. Lord knows how long I'd be able to survive on a couple thousand dollars. Now I have to survive on zero dollars and the good grace of my parents. Thirty-four years old and this is what my life's amounted to. Zero. It's tough being out of a job with no pay. It's tough having seizures that come about now whenever I get upset. I'm afraid. I'm depressed.

For my thyroid readers, my June levels were TSH .008, up from .002 in March. But I saw an endocrinologist who said my PCP should not have decreased my thyroid medication by so much, and she is now increasing my dosage slightly and taking over my thyroid care. Summer and winter dosage requirements might differ based on my history, I realize. I'm lucky to have insurance that affords me a specialist visit like that. Hopefully my former employer won't cut out my health insurance while I'm on this suddenly extended and now unpaid medical leave. Hopefully life gets better. It has to.

That's it for now. Goodnight.

Nostalgia

My pain hits me sometimes, like a whip, it stings inside.

I miss the old, the old familiar, the old nonsense and pointlessness. Everything unmeaningful. It's meaningful now.

I miss the now, stuck in the then. The world screams light-waves but I can't hear.

I miss the sound of your voice and of your laughter. I miss your smile. I miss the shenanigans and the dull but somehow exciting bar-talk we shared when the day was far away.

Night owls. Passing souls. Strangers sharing a breath of time together, and it ends.

I miss feeling nothing. That was something. Something special indeed.