Azure Jane Lunatic (azurelunatic) wrote,
Azure Jane Lunatic

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Queue was high. We finally got it knocked down to nothing at the end of the shift. Coordination was shit -- breaks were all wonky. Wound up getting mine way late; wound up crying briefly in the bathroom because I was too late for hot lunch & wound up getting a bagel out of the machine. (My blood sugar was shit & I didn't realize how bad it was until too late, see...) Mood stabilized like you wouldn't believe after the bagel. (There's no excuse -- I have assorted things in my desk. I just wasn't tracking my blood sugar by feel & then I was emotionally crashed even though I was physically working still.)

Found the persistent bug at work2. (I wasn't running on zero fuel -- we stopped for supper on the way there. I have a thing for the Einstein Bros.' lox-bagels now; if I can't get my raw salmon at a sushi place, I'll get it with cream cheese and a bagel.) Celebration ensued! Now to fix the damned thing.

My hair is now below bra-strap length. (This is a Milestone in hair-growth.) I think I can count on one hand the number of days I've left it down since getting the new job. This is good for the hair, although my vanity insists that I should try it down more often so that I can display it in all its glory. Then, I'm starting to develop some hair-modesty twitches. Since I have my hair up so often, it strikes me somehow that having my hair down is too intimate a thing to show the general public. (Part of me was not raised in this century.) I don't think I mind showing the workplace, just as I don't mind having my jacket off in the workplace (it's among work-family, and there's no active sun in there), but I don't think I want to have my hair down in public-public very often.

Ah, yes, sun. I've noticed that if my forearms* are exposed to sun, they break out in a gnarly rash. (I thought it was a sunscreen problem, but I think it's a sun problem.) I'm on St. John's Wort, and I know that has the occasional bad interaction with sunlight. So I'm making an effort to avoid the sun, since I can't get off the St. John's Wort. (I keep trying that, and bad things keep happening. I like having normal-human emotions, I like not having regular panic attacks, I like liking being alive, and I like being alive. Unmedicated, there's a very real risk of reversing all those positive trends.) One of the sun-avoidance measures is wearing a long-sleeved overshirt or sweater or jacket or something on top of what I ordinarily wear. (I've been doing that. I have more than one now, and I've been laying them out with my other clothes for the morning. I get dressed mostly on autopilot, so I don't have to think about what I'm wearing; I pick that out the night before when I'm still capable of putting together complex sentences and outfits consisting of more things than some underwear and a toga.) My arms are healing. It's great.

* The only part of my body other than my feet and face that is routinely exposed to the sun

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