What can I do?

That is what a friend messaged me tonight in response to me being honest about how bad things are: What can I do?

And the answer is, I’m not sure. However, I need an answer to that question since I know I need help.

I have been tracking my mood on a UK site that I love, Moodscope.com, for a while know. While I am sure two people could score the same and not be feeling the same, I have figured out what the numbers mean for me. So here is a guide, for anyone brave enough to be one of my mood buddies, of how the numbers break down.

90%+ = Manic. I am likely to take lots of risks and do very stupid things like unprotected sex with a bisexual heroin addict or spend the month’s rent on comic books.

90% – 70% = I am handling my shit fairly well. I will fluctuate in response to stress, but over all things are ok.

70% – 50% = Something external, like a deadline, is not going well and a little bit of help or space will help, but I am still pretty good.

50% – 20% = I need support because things are feeling hectic. Some practical, concrete help is needed. I may have trouble articulating it, but I would appreciate you offering before I ask. A phone call would be fantastic. Make sure I am still taking my meds.

20% = 10% = I really need some help. I probably still can’t ask, but if you can spend the day with me or offer to take over a responsibility (like making dinner), it would mean the world to me. I probably can’t handle a phone conversation as it is too much for me. And no matter how much I deny it, I need company, too. Sit with me while I try to get my shit together. I may start drinking or smoking to self-medicate. This is not a good behavior because of the meds I take. I may also stop taking meds, quickening the spiral.

-10% = An ER visit or hospital stay is probably going to happen. I might get into fights and say hurtful things I don’t mean. Or get in trouble with the police for disturbing the peace, theft, or shoplifting. Or I might start hurting myself, like slamming my hand into a wall or cutting myself or vomiting or starving myself. I may even slap myself or other extreme types of behaviors. I need help immediately. A hotline call might be too much for me to do on my own; I may fight it. But I MUST get to someplace SAFE right away and get back on my meds.

They tried to make me go to Rehab…

…and I said, “Sure, OK.”

It takes me a while to work my way to the truth. Or at least a somewhat stable version of it.

I am in rehab, an all be it outpatient one, but rehab nonetheless. The few friends I am in any kind of contact with are dealing with this fact in very different ways. One wants to take me drinking. One traveled 4 hours by train to take naps with me. One comes to my house for dinner and brings pie.

But how to I deal with this? I should be writing lots of great poetry.

I’m not.

I am trying to remember to take my meds. I am trying to remember they are good for me, and that I should stay on them. All but the week’s supply is padlocked into a great big black box I have no access to. I also receive a phone call every evening to tell me to take my medicine and charge my cell phone. If this new protocol fails to keep me on meds (and prevent another fist fight and an ER visit for a broken hand – or at least severely contused hand), people I don’t know will come to my house twice a day and watch me take the pills. Then they will ask me to open my mouth and move my tongue around.

I am trying to remember to shower everyday and get dressed. I am trying to put my clean clothes away and pick all the clothes up off the floor of my new bedroom. Almost all of the socks I own are underneath my new bed.

I am trying to slowly chip away at the mountain of paperwork I have to fill out because the poorer you are, the more paperwork you have to fill out.

I have learned if I drink the smallest amount, I will laugh until I begin weeping followed by a spiral that will probably end in physical violence to others or myself.

I have learned I have not really slept well for the last 20 odd years, that Ambian is a precious commodity never to be squandered, and that sleeping meds will be my new best friend hopefully very soon.

I have learned to admit to my bitterness over having to leave school and that no one really seems to care as much as I think they should.

And of course, I have come to appreciate that the times I can spend in the company of other people who have experienced psych holds and The System are actually a relief. I can use a shorthand–no need to explain myself or explain why I am such a shadow of my former self.

And finally, I think about how much time must pass before I can no longer call myself a poet and what to do with a life that has no purpose.

Some musings on friendship

Not that I am much of a Bible reader anymore, by thinking over the events of the last several months has me remembering the adage of Proverbs 17:17:

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity (KJV).”

I know I’ve not been easy to be friends with lately–isolation, irritability, and mood swings that pull at least 3 Gs. But I am surprised most by the ones who stuck it out and helped me the whole way through.

Like the phone call from someone I would have categorized as a business associate. I was so surprised, I used the cover story about my blood pressure being elevated. I mean it was, but doctors don’t usually keep you in the hospital for 5 days to monitor your BP, and certainly my sister’s message accompanying the number where I could be reached must have raised some eyebrows: don’t use her last name, just ask for Tiffany.

I’m also surprised by some of the traffic, small as it might be, of people commenting on my blog posts. For example, someone I’ve not seen in over 2 years, who I was pretty sure did not consider me a friend anymore, and who lives on the other coast. I guess the Apocrypha do have some valuable advice:

“Forsake not an old friend; for the new is not comparable to him: a new friend is as new wine; when it is old, thou shall drink it with pleasure. (Sirach 9:10).

Friendship is a theme today because the only blog I seem to be able to keep up with mentioned it, too. Jon Cousins wrote a blog entry entitled Where do you belong? today. The thought for today is to “[p]articipate in activities with people who share your interests.”

Of course, my interests have become rather narrow. Between my declining physical health and my unstable mental health, the immanent move and the unending packing, and the gobs of paperwork I need to fill out and send to various offices, free time is something I Still have to fight for. And I’m tired. I also have a head cold.

I have tried to invite friends to share in some of my recovery activities like cooking more, knitting, walking, etc. but with only limited success.

So while I am feeling better on the whole, I am still not really being a good friend. And I can’t help but become a little sad when my Carlow writer friends are displaying pictures of all the wonderful things I missed in Dublin and talking about packets with excitement.

So, while I am trying to do better, I can’t make any promises. I am staring a 1-2 year recovery in the face. If anyone wants to stick it out, I will be very glad of the company.

A not so up-to-date update

Sorry I kinda fell off the edge of the world there for a while.

I was in the hospital from August 3rd to the 8th (if you count the 19 hours in the Cumberland ER; I was then transferred via a $1,400+ ambulance ride to Meritus Hospital in Hagerstown). It is a really nice facility. I am now receiving outpatient care through a local organization with an estimated 1 yr. to 2 yr. recovery before I can go back to school OR work part-time, but not both.

I also have to move out of my apartment by the 10th of September since I can no longer afford to pay rent. My little sister and I are getting a place together where she will pay rent. I’ve already started packing, and we should be actually moving by the 7th of September. I’m also going to physical therapy twice per week and am in the awkward stage between knowing I have to have surgery and having the actual surgery scheduled.

I am applying for SSI, my meds have killed my memory (Thai language skills = completely gone), and I am now on a driving restriction until the new meds get rid of the visual and auditory hallucinations. Of course, the new meds also give me tremors and seizures.

I have been trying to be better with asking friends for help, which has been hit or miss. Tuesday my promised ride never showed or called, so I drove myself to PT seeing double the whole way. I’ve found it’s the parking lot that is so dangerous, so I used the valet service.

I have lost the ability to multi-task and lots of other activities are severely limited. I also now have a girlfriend, which seems the most ironic thing to have happened. Post-move, I am going to try to start blogging more.

Ttfn

I am a Wikipedia cut and paste

So, I went to see my counselor today and finished the last of the psych eval questions. There were over 700 questions altogether. I don’t even think that is the last of it, but I should have some results and possibly a clearer diagnosis soon.

The oddest part about taking these tests is that they stirred up a lot of stuff for me that I was not at all expecting. I had terrible nightmares after the first session, and had to skip testing the next day.

I have tried to track my moods still, and I think when I start hitting the single digits it is time for me to be a little concerned. I’ve tried to define exactly how I am feeling, since it is so confusing (and I’ve still been confused).

Enter Sarah from Seattle! She wrote about two different types of manic periods, which I’d not read about before. And as I was posting a comment to her blog, I realized I should re-post my response here. A little bit of self-plagiarism, if you will.

“I like the idea of defining two different types of manic episodes. I’ve not really heard about that elsewhere. I love how you can put something into words I’ve only begun to start noticing…

“I think this is what I was trying to explain to my counselor (rather unsuccessfully) that before I started taking Cymbalta my manic episodes where the racing, intense, 12 project, chest pounding kind. And that was good for me because I was working and managing projects and my life was a house ‘o fire. I could let grading slide for weeks and then barrel through a month’s worth of grading in a few days. I could put events or school packets together at the last-minute that looked well planed out, etc.

“But now, I have two OTHER kinds. 1) I am so wired I can’t sleep but also can’t be productive. While I used to be able to write whole poems during a manic cycle, I have trouble concentrating on any task. Everything is just a blur and I can’t focus. I can only sit around and think. And play video games.

“Then, recently, I have been getting these rather frantic periods of no sleep, buzzing thought, but my mood is subterranean. I guess that would be a mixed episode.”

I actually looked up the definition of a mixed episode because I was unsure. To my aid comes Wikipedia, which is actually a much nicer way to read about mental health issues than is WebMD (haven of hypochondriacs).

Here is the definition:

“In the context of mental disorder, a mixed state, also known as dysphoric mania, agitated depression, or a mixed episode, is a condition during which symptoms of mania and depression occur simultaneously, such as agitation, anxiety, fatigue, guilt, impulsiveness, irritability, morbid or suicidal ideation, panic, paranoia, pressured speech and rage. Typical examples include tearfulness during a manic episode or racing thoughts during a depressive episode. One may also feel incredibly frustrated or be prone to fits of rage in this state, since one may feel like a failure and at the same time have a flight of ideas. Mixed states are often the most dangerous period of mood disorders, during which susceptibility to substance abuse, panic disorder, commission of violence, suicide attempts, and other complications increase greatly.”

To be diagnosed as having a mixed state, symptoms are supposed to last a week, but then it says, “However, mixed episodes rarely conform to these qualifications; they may be described more practically as any combination of depressive and manic symptoms.“

I also learned that “some antidepressant drugs may trigger dysphoric mania in susceptible individuals.” So I am thinking since I have felt this way since stopping the Lamictal, it might be having some lingering effects.

So, what about treatment?

Good question, since I’m not really sure.

As I mentioned, I was prescribed two new medicines: Saphris (asenapine) and Cogentin (benztropine).

According to Wikipedia, “Treatment of mixed states is typically based upon administration of mood stabilizing medication, which may include anticonvulsants such as valproic acid; atypical antipsychotics such asolanzapine, aripiprazole, and ziprasidone; or first-generation antipsychotics such as haloperidol…Mood stabilizers work to reduce the manic symptoms associated with the mixed state, but they are not considered particularly effective for improving concurrent depressive symptoms.“

Saphris is an atypical antipsychotic, but it tastes SO BAD, I threw up the first time I tried to dissolve it under my tongue as directed. My doctor wrote the script for the black cherry flavor, but the pharmacist gave me the plain ones. Why would a company even think of marketing something that tastes so foul!?!

My counselor sent my shrink an email asking if it is alright if I just swallow them.

The Cogentin is to control the seizures and muscle pain I am still occasionally having and which the Saphris could make worse. I have resumed taking it. So I’m currently taking three meds.

I would say, as bad a depressed states are, a mixed one is worse because I can’t take refuge in bed. In fact, I’ve not slept in my bed in several days, just cat-napping on the couch in the A/C.

I’m still having trouble keeping up with simple things such as checking my voice messages or answering emails. And next week is the day camp I am supposed to be teaching! I need to work up my lesson plans ASAP!

So if any of you are waiting on an email, phone call, etc., please don’t take it personally. I will get back to you before the year is out, I promise!

A quick Google search…

How I’ve felt lately…

A blur, that’s how the past few days feel. It’s not like I’ve lost time again, I just haven’t done anything worth really remembering.

I guess the important stuff for those of you who may care is as follows:

–> I went to my PCP (primary care physician for those of you still without insurance), and she did blood work and had me go for a CT scan to see if that episode was a stroke or not. Between my shrink and my doc, the three guesses in the running are 1) an idiosyncratic (read: I’m special) severe reaction to the increasing dosage of the Lamictal, 2) a stroke, or 3) a psychotic break. I have several appointments this week to figure out if there is any permanent damage.

–> I was put on two new medications. One is an anti-seizure medicine and the other an anti-psychotic. The jury is still out on them.

–> A friend brought me another A/C unit, so while I had felt like I was going to boil alive in my apartment (at least 100 degrees in the kitchen) and was living on cold baked beans and crackers (the living room was 96), it is now a mere 76 degrees in here. Last night I was able to cook a proper meal (chicken helper made with tuna).

–> I can’t pay July’s rent, so eviction procedures will start again. I made the rounds to Social Security, Social Services, and HRDC, and the result was “Maybe.” Maybe I can get some help, maybe I will have to live in my car, maybe I will have to beg my sister to let my cats live with her.

I’ve tried to have everyone who owes me money to pay up. So far, out of the $900+ that is legitimately owed to me from various sources, I managed to scrape up $75 in a partial refund from a writer’s retreat in April I didn’t go to because I was sick.

~~~

I am finding that I am less and less interested in being on my personal Facebook account. I have 435 friends on Facebook. I am sure well over half of them have no idea what I am going through even through this blog entry, as they all are, will be posted on both my personal account and my page.

I am very tempted to delete all the people I’ve not really had any contact with since this all started. I’d drop down below 100, I’m sure. In any case, I created an alternate profile. I have 250 friends who play the same three games I do. Some of them post very funny things, and in the one gaming group, everyone is polite and has no idea that for the last several months I have slowly and painfully going insane.

They have no past to judge me by, so perceived or expected achievements; they make no demands (other than requests for in-game resources). I have fun there. I like it there. I want to stay.

The early bird

At around 4pm on Wed. the 20, I decided to take a nap (after being up for 20 hours again). I wasn’t particularly tired, but my body ached a bit.

I woke up at 4am on Thurs. the 21. Nuts.

At least on Wednesday, I did find the insurance forms. Now I just need to find paper to print them out. No deadline was listed though, so that is a good thing.

This getting (or more usually being up already) for the early morning is quite beautiful. I am generally not the type to leap out of bed in the morning, so I usually miss the special qualities of the light coming into the world. Something about the quality of the air, the hush, the calmness of the dark after the sharpness of it earlier in the night, makes me particularly inspired and restful.

A restfulness of mind, which is so very hard to come by for me these days.

I feel more centered, more connected. And this only happens during my manic cycles since I am usually sleeping the morning away in a depressed funk otherwise. Ironic, isn’t it?

It makes me wonder if my poetry also comes from this place of centeredness, of connectedness, of burning in the womb, of mania. The poems I usually like the most are those that have a sizzle in them. When I look back at them after the initial fire of creation, I usually am surprised I wrote them. There is a sureness of voice, a strength, that I only feel in myself when I am manic. I feel like I am then a truer version of myself. One who is stronger. That is the one who survived.

Which makes the down times that much worse. Because that person is not the survivor. That is the damaged victim. Those halves are always present, but like id and ego figures, they assert themselves more at the highs and lows respectively.

Maybe I write Id Poetry–I kinda like that.

So I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I may be crazy, but I’m enjoying myself right now. Of course, in 10 days, the rent is due and I have $10 left in my checking account…

But I am working through that aftermath plan with baby steps. Today = kittens’ shots. Friday = a friend driving me around to the Social Security office and Human Resources to start the disability process and file for energy assistance, respectively.

All those offices used to be in the same building along with child services and food stamps, centrally located downtown near the main bus stop. Now you have to go to three different places all over town in a virtually bus-free town.

You’re only a conspiracy nut if you’re wrong…

My hope is that temporary disability and unemployment together will be enough to cover July’s rent. I’ll worry about August later.

Namaste

So, that’s a bad thing. Right?

As close as I can figure, I was up for 20 hours “yesterday.” I went to my counseling appointment, made a list of all the things I need to do to start dealing with the “aftermath,” as I am calling it, of those lost 10 days, went to my parent’s house and pulled up my Double Delight rose, transplanted it into a pot on my porch along with some pink clematis, and generally felt like I was doing pretty good. I also got most of the trash out of the house.

Obviously, I am ramping up for a manic cycle (if not technically in one right now). But I am having a hard time thinking of that as a bad thing. I am actually relieved. I have lots of things to do, and I need some get up and go.

Granted, the get up and go also tends to wander off and get distracted (in the time it’s taken me to write the above two paragraphs I’ve also played a few Facebook games, said good morning to unsurprisingly grumpy trash collectors, retrieved my trash can, hung a hanging basket, chased the kittens around the porch, put more soil on the rose/clematis, and watered some of the garden). And the not being able to focus long enough to really eat is bad for my hypoglycemia but good on the budget.

I understand that predicting cycles can head off calamity; i.e., knowing when I am about to become suicidal is a good thing to head off, but is knowing a manic cycle is imminent a calamity waiting to happen? My answer: Depends.

Granted, during my last two manic cycles I spent a grand total of about $1,500, and though that was not the greatest, I can’t really be too hard on myself. I struggle a great deal when I am down, and the ups are rewarding in their way. Ok, that was classic justification, but what the hell? I had fun and didn’t get evicted after all.

What are the other pitfalls of mania? Unprotected sex is a continuing issue I’ve faced in the past, but given my geographical location (i.e., not a large population of lesbians or bi-sexual men), travel issues (no money for gas + dizzy spells), and the fact that I have worked REALLY hard to have some sense of taste when it comes to who I fuck, I don’t really see that as much of an issue.

I don’t think I ever could endanger the lives of my cats, no matter how bad I get. Bad driving? Sure. Going into the 10-day confusion zone, I hit two cars (no damage), but since the social anxiety is still pretty heavy, I don’t see myself going wild outside.

So I waste a few days playing video games and watching TV. Who cares? So I rearranging the furniture in my apartment and throw away a ton of trash. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Even if it is some nicer stuff, or I break some shit, still not the end of the world. Or I might finish a short story or actually dive into that novel project I’ve been nursing. I would put that down as a positive, even though the chances of that happening have been practically zero since the Cymbalta (curse you, fibromyalgia!)

My days of delusional thinking about how I was going to change the world are fewer and farther between, and while I still get that sense of my life seeping out of my hands as I do something pointless and shallow, I am trying not to pay too much attention to it.

Looking back, I think I was actually mostly manic all through college. I would have really bad crashes, but with the flexible class schedule and very understanding supervisors at the library, I was able to get through fairly ok. The delusions started even before college, though the collegiate environment is a fertile ground for delusions of grandeur.

I remember feeling so very different as a child. I was the only one in my immediate family born outside of the month of October. Since I was the only child born in a hospital, I would fantasize about being switched at birth. Until I was in my teens! (I still secretly wish I was the confirmed result of an affair).

I remember meeting a distant cousin once when I was 10 or so, and she asked me if I wanted to study medicine (after I’d rattled off some fact I’d recently read). I told her no, but she replied, “Well, I know you are going to do something special. I can sense that about you.”

That off-handed and potentially insincere comment stuck with me, gentle puffing up my ego. By the time I hit college, I was utterly convinced I could not only accomplish but succeed at anything I “put my mind to.”

During my college career and even as recently as when I was working at the theatre, I tackled projects with a fever that intimidated the hell out of many people. I have a lot of cool things under my belt. But my days of working miracles are most certainly past. I don’t know if it is age, the fibro, or the Cymbalta (or their powers combined), but my magic wand is as limp as a, well, you get the idea.

I still have people tell me things that tend to inflate my Jesus complex from time to time, and my college roommate is my personal cheerleader to keep those delusions alive. But something about after college and my time living in New Orléans, and those delusions started to evaporate.

I was fired up again when I first started seriously studying poetry. But this time the fire didn’t last long. I still want to figure out how to not close the door on an MFA forever, but that is not my first concern in dealing with the aftermath.

Assignment number one today is calling the travel insurance and seeing if there is a chance in hell I can get my $900 for the airline ticket back.

Assignment number two is the write all my appointments in my appointment book and see if I’ve double booked myself.

And that is all I am scheduling, because I want to feel good about what I do accomplish.

In the time I spent revising this, I logged into Moodscope to chart my mood. It is interesting to note that on June 4, I tracked myself at  01% and that is when I wrote that I was not sure I’d found bottom. I definitely went down from there into the minus numbers.

Today’s score?

97% and the top of the mountain is still straight ahead!

Little happy surprises

Today was a day of little, happy surprises, which right now are the only kind I really can handle.

First it was rocks.

Since I have effectively flipped my nights and days, my evenings are now early morning. I wait around until other people are up or shops are open, so I can duck in and get a few things done. This morning I went to Cumberland Concrete with a mop-bucket and a spade, begging for rocks. Since they can’t ring anything up that weighs under 100 lbs., I was given leave to fill my bucket after I politely asked.

I felt a bit like a kid asking to play in the sand. Or like Mary from The Secret Garden. Can I have just a bit of rock…

White and yellow quartz, smooth and wet; they really are pretty.

Next, I stopped off at Surplus City for some 8 penny nails to secure the hanging baskets and got a pair of shiny working pliers to boot. I forget they are there all the time, but if they have what you need, they are super cheap.

Lastly, I stopped in Southern States. The hanging baskets are still on sale, so I got two more as well as a fuchsia tomato cage and 4 more bags of soil. I should be all set to transplant/rescue my rose from my parent’s old garden.

Going so early in the morning really helped with the social anxiety, not to mention those businesses are all relatively local and staffed by local people who have slow, meandering ways. While I used to really find that annoying, I find it very reassuring now for some reason. Some things don’t change, maybe. Or maybe because I was there so early, I thought they thought I was super on the ball. Or that I don’t feel that desperate pressure to be phenomenal that I always felt in classroom or workplace environments.

For example, when I was checking out at Southern States, I got a little confused by the math of my total. I made one of those nervous social laughs and said, “Math isn’t my strong suit.” The checkout lady said, “Me neither.” And rather than feeling my normal sense of competition or drive, I just calmly and easily replied, “Yeah, I’d have to take my shoes off.”

It was an extremely normal, local exchange. It felt comfortable, familiar, intimate. And I felt like I got a zillion things done by stopping at those three stores.

~~~

My next little surprise came after I crashed out and slept the day away.

I’d left the door open in case anyone knocked since I have so much trouble hearing over the fans. But when I awoke and went on the porch to check on Madame, I found a charming little basket nestled down in my new hanging baskets. The basket contained a tea towel and was filled with chocolate chip scones!

I love scones!

First I smiled. Then I spent some time wondering if they contained poison (still having some trouble with paranoid delusions). So I decided to stay up and turn on the computer to see if I could determine who left them on my porch. They were, in fact, from a good local friend I hardly ever get to see but is one of my emergency cat sitters in case of hospitalization.

She said, “I left something for you on your porch inside one of your planters. You don’t have to worry about returning the container. I left a message with your cat  ;-) but I wanted to let you know since it was some scones for you.”

What touched me the most was the unexpected and unasked for nature of the gift coupled with the whimsical presentation. I’ve been happily munching on them off and on for hours.

Luckily Madame must have understood my friend since she didn’t eat them. Madame is a carbs nut.

A few days ago, she surprised me at the door with her latest kill, not a mouse or bird, but a slice of French bread pizza with pepperoni and crawling with ants. She was so proud!

~~~

So that was my day/night. It is 5am now, and my counseling appointment is at 8am.

My plan is to go to my counseling appointment and then retrieve my rose. Then I will spend some time planting and messing about on the porch.

The biggest thing I must do is take out the trash! I don’t want to start “depression hording” again. That is just a slippery, slippery slope.

One question, for anyone reading (*crickets*), what is the best depression pick-me-up you have had? I think a lot depends on timing and just where you are, but I am curious…

Feeling awake…when I’m awake…

So yesterday was probably the first day in almost three weeks that I have felt more completely awake now that I have stopped taking the Lamictal. I was able to pay some bills that were close to or just past due. Yay! for keeping the internet on!

Today, I went to bed at 6:30am and woke at 4:30pm, so a reasonable amount of sleep but with the characteristics of wakefulness I get when I am ramping up for a manic or hypomanic phase.

According to my counselor and her interpretation of the Big Book of Problems (DSMIV), it is not possible to have both manic and hypomanic periods. Something about that just doesn’t sit right with me. Beside, how can anyone really know what my cycles are really like when I only talk about them or seek treatment AFTER I am already taking medication.

Cymbalta is prescribed for my fibromyalgia, but without any clinical degrees under my belt, I am convinced it interacts with my cycles. It could be the absence of the severe bone grinding pain I was in pre-Cymbalta, or it could be a “rare” side-effect like the fact that it makes me extremely irritable, or it could be just something about my strange anatomy (extra / lack of organs, blood abnormalities, etc.).

Today, I was able to shower, get dressed, and run up to my parent’s house to drill some holes in the bottom of my new large pots.

My plan this week is to get stones from the local quarry along with some more soil to plant the clematis and transplant my rose.

The kittens also get their second round to shots and deworming this week, and I have both counseling and psychiatrist appointments. I also have to loan a book out for the free presentation I bailed on later this month.

If I accomplish all of that, I will consider this a very successful week.

What about all that other stuff, you ask? To hell with it until either the letters are red or they come knocking on my door with handcuffs!!!