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Right. I'm bleeping DONE for the day. I spent the past half hour (but it felt like much longer) convinced that my purse was not just missing but had been swiped by someone who snuck in while I was outside walking a dog. The purse with my credit card, driver's liscence, portable handheld, and MY FREAKING ASTHMA INHALER WHICH THE PANIC BROUGHT ON WITH THE THOUGHT OF LOOSING MY PURSE MEANT I NEEDED. Okay, maybe not needed, but definitely wanted, my throat had that twinge of thinking of closing up.
I found it hiding in the laundry basket under the robe which I had pulled away from a too curious dog earlier in the day. Time to self-medicate the anxiety attack away with some peach flavored whiskey, chocolate cookies (so the booze does not go straight to my head), and Ouran High School Host Club on netflix cause I don't wanna deal with digging out the boxed set right now.
I hate that something simple like misplacing my purse can have such a dramatic reaction to my body. My lungs actually feel raw at the moment, like I had mulled a cup of brandy but forgot to blow away the vaporised alcohol from the surface before sniffing to catch the extra spices. ... okay, that simile was extremely convoluted, but you get the idea.
I had just started exercising too, starting to walk around the block twice a day and feeling good about the slight burn in my legs and my lungs mostly behaving. As in, out of shape person trying mild exercise behaving, not asthmatic trying this within 5 driving minutes of downtown meltdown. Okay, that does not sound like much, but our neighborhood's on the slope of a mountain, and our block is angled so that no matter which direction I take, at least half of the walk's uphill. I was getting all hopeful that maybe I COULD be master in my body, and then panic attack goes LOLNOPE and erases all the morale boosting the walking did.
The rediculously sad part? My body reacts the same way to having to walk from my computer room to my bedroom if hubby goes to bed first and I have to make the walk in the dark. My mind's going, "This isn't so bad, heart why are you racing? Lungs, slow down... we're not scared, dammit!" And... I'm not scared, I don't feel that emotion in my own home in that scenario, but... someone forgot to tell my body. U.U;
I found it hiding in the laundry basket under the robe which I had pulled away from a too curious dog earlier in the day. Time to self-medicate the anxiety attack away with some peach flavored whiskey, chocolate cookies (so the booze does not go straight to my head), and Ouran High School Host Club on netflix cause I don't wanna deal with digging out the boxed set right now.
I hate that something simple like misplacing my purse can have such a dramatic reaction to my body. My lungs actually feel raw at the moment, like I had mulled a cup of brandy but forgot to blow away the vaporised alcohol from the surface before sniffing to catch the extra spices. ... okay, that simile was extremely convoluted, but you get the idea.
I had just started exercising too, starting to walk around the block twice a day and feeling good about the slight burn in my legs and my lungs mostly behaving. As in, out of shape person trying mild exercise behaving, not asthmatic trying this within 5 driving minutes of downtown meltdown. Okay, that does not sound like much, but our neighborhood's on the slope of a mountain, and our block is angled so that no matter which direction I take, at least half of the walk's uphill. I was getting all hopeful that maybe I COULD be master in my body, and then panic attack goes LOLNOPE and erases all the morale boosting the walking did.
The rediculously sad part? My body reacts the same way to having to walk from my computer room to my bedroom if hubby goes to bed first and I have to make the walk in the dark. My mind's going, "This isn't so bad, heart why are you racing? Lungs, slow down... we're not scared, dammit!" And... I'm not scared, I don't feel that emotion in my own home in that scenario, but... someone forgot to tell my body. U.U;
