I seem to have a little obsession with mysteries lately. Once I start reading one, I can't stop until I see how it turns out -- hundreds of pages later. I had 3 days off, I read 3 mysteries. Which means I was pretty much reading non-stop. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but reading mysteries is kind of like eating junk food -- it's good, but not ultimately satisfying.
At first I was distracting myself from the turbulence at home, what with all the contractors and everything. Now I think I am distracting myself from sleep apnea. The treatment isn't so bad, although I did pick up another mask to try because the 1st one kept slipping, but nothing says "frumpy" like wearing a nasal mask to bed. The only marginally cool thing about it is that my breathing sounds like Darth Vader. That would probably impress my nephew. I keep trying to say "Luke, I am your father" but you can't really talk with it on, and Rosie-cat probably wouldn't get the reference anyway.
I'm kind of depressed about the whole thing, I have to say. I mean, I'm glad I found out about it, glad the treatment is working, glad that it *is* treatable, and glad that a number of co-existing conditions are simultaneously clearing up. Part of it is, I feel sad that it wasn't diagnosed sooner, as I've been exhausted a long time, probably because of non-restorative sleep. And part of it, of course, is being sad that I have it at all. It's just going to make my mid-life crisis that much harder. I really feel old when I have to hook myself up to a machine to sleep at night.
But enough kvetching. I'll get used to it and be grateful for having renewed energy and pretty soon it will just be a habit that keeps me healthy. For that, I really am grateful.
At first I was distracting myself from the turbulence at home, what with all the contractors and everything. Now I think I am distracting myself from sleep apnea. The treatment isn't so bad, although I did pick up another mask to try because the 1st one kept slipping, but nothing says "frumpy" like wearing a nasal mask to bed. The only marginally cool thing about it is that my breathing sounds like Darth Vader. That would probably impress my nephew. I keep trying to say "Luke, I am your father" but you can't really talk with it on, and Rosie-cat probably wouldn't get the reference anyway.
I'm kind of depressed about the whole thing, I have to say. I mean, I'm glad I found out about it, glad the treatment is working, glad that it *is* treatable, and glad that a number of co-existing conditions are simultaneously clearing up. Part of it is, I feel sad that it wasn't diagnosed sooner, as I've been exhausted a long time, probably because of non-restorative sleep. And part of it, of course, is being sad that I have it at all. It's just going to make my mid-life crisis that much harder. I really feel old when I have to hook myself up to a machine to sleep at night.
But enough kvetching. I'll get used to it and be grateful for having renewed energy and pretty soon it will just be a habit that keeps me healthy. For that, I really am grateful.
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