Guess Where I Am?

WHAT I am is -- not inclined to complain.  I'm generally philosophical;  no point complaining as a rule, it doesn't change or improve anything.  (The stuck-in-traffic theory:  you can stew and swear or knit and read....no one's going anywhere either way.)

OK, so where am I?  In....in....I'm in the DOLDRUMS!  According to some branch of Wikipedia:

Colloquially, to be in the doldrums, said especially of a person, is to be listless, despondent, inactive, stagnant, in a slump.

(Note that I put in in BLUE, get it?)

Here's the problem.  NOTE:  in spite of what I said, I fear I am about to launch into a full-bore COMPLAINT.  I mean it to be a unique, unusual, rare, not-to-be-repeated experience.

I arrived in the Doldrums around the first of the month (this one, December).   No energy, no spunk, no get-up-and-go.  (Can't resist:  "my get-up-and-go...got-up-and-went.")  Anyway, after several days of this -- well, a couple of weeks, I went to see la docteure.  Now, having wonky thyroid (can't recall if it's too little or too much) I do take medication and I thought that must be it.  Or anemia - I've had anemia in the past and napped a lot. 

So the Kind and Friendly Vampire was solicited and I contributed copious amounts of blood.  (Actually?  I have perfectly dreamy veins in my elbows - if there was a competition judged by lab techs I'd win the Golden Vein for sure!)

Good News:  all tests came back "within normal limits".
Bad News:  all tests came back "within normal limits."

I'm continuing to be a pretty good representation of peanut butter.  Warm caramel.  Warm Jell-o.  So it was  back to La Docteure.  Step Two:  yesterday I had a Gastrointestinal Imaging Experience.

Arrived at the Clinic at 1:30, per intructions (Mr Dearling came along - bless him, he didn't think I should have to spend TWO HOURS of boredom alone!)  "Two HOURS?" you say in amazement.  Why yes - because over the course of time between arrival and the x-ray (yes, I know, they're not x-rays anymore...I'm old, I use quaint language.  Withal.) I had to sip ("not gulp" said the droll lab tech who gave it to me) four 8 oz paper cups of -- stuff.  'It's ice-cold", she said, "it's not bad."  She assured me it wasn't minty (some things are NOT improved by being minty) and admitted that she'd had to taste it when they were in school -- seems to me that she said something about "punishment".

It wasn't all that bad, actually.  It WAS, as she assured me, "watered-down barium".  It had a vaguely citric flavor.  I had to sip it ("the better to coat the linings") over the two hours.  Now, the truth is, I actually didn't finish all four cups.  I got three down -- but I rarely drink that much of ANYTHING.  Except maybe an icy-cold frothy glass of milk with something chonkles.

So the time came.  Let me tell you, it was a lovely test for someone with no NRG:  I laid on a table at a comfortable angle with a pillow and a comfortable pillow under my knees.  I could easily have dozed off - the test itself consisted of the table sliding back and forth through a great scientific-looking hoop.  When inside the hoop, a pleasant female (robotic) voice said "Breathe in - hold it - breathe" a couple of times.

However - although I'll be interested to hear the report, I am NOT sure what my stomach might have to do with doldrums or ennui or weariness or wossname.

Next step:  middle of next month (!) a cardiac ulstrasound(!)  I'm further not sure why my heart would make me tired - but we'll see.

Here's the deal though:  what I HAVE been doing is spending days (WHOLE days) and often nights on the couch.  Flat.  Plotzed.  Resting.  Napping.  Lazing.  Sleeping.  Spending maybe an hour vertical, online, after which I need a nap.

What I have NOT been doing is:  working, knitting, reading, writing....and I've had to miss SEVERAL events upon which I had my heart set:  I missed my Writers' Group meeting (never did that before and was bummed majorly);  a Solstice celebration, a house party, several programs for the Museum....including a storytelling gig today.

I managed a very nice Christmas Eve morning Icelandic breakfast  and enjoyed (enormously) the company of my beloved Youngest Son (with his cherished bride, three stunning daughters and clever darling son) and my Lovely (and very helpful) Daughter.  Mr. Dearling does our Christmas Day cooking and we hosted my beloved Elder Son (with his cherished bride and two adorable sons) and the still-Lovely and more-helpful Daughter!   We also spent Christmas evening with specially dear friends,, pere et fils, as they say, in extraordinary conversation and company...although we left at 10:00, rather earlier than in previous years -- and I pretty much slept for the next elebenty-thirteen hours but it was worth it.

So.  One possibility remains:  DEPRESSION!  Now, I'm just not sad - I haven't been, I don't know why it would come on suddenly.  Mr. Dearling says depression can be a chemical imbalance and not "a case of the sads";  I think he's right.)  What I am is suffering from is a profound case of BLARG.  (Thanks, James, for the best word EVAR!)  Yep, I have the blarg.  

Now - here's one thing:  it's about to be a New Year, rife with New Beginnings, &c &c.   I AM going out New Year's Eve in my hoops and furbelows, (as Mrs. First Mayor's Wife) with Mr. Dearling (as Madison's First Mayor) to ride around the Square in a festive trolley, pointing out sights of interest in OUR (1857) Madison.     I reckon I'll nap a while afterward -- maybe a week or so .  But I don't like keeping missing out on stuff, it's infuriating.  It's making me sad.  It's...yeah, depressing.

So that's where I am, and I am looking forward to a) finding out WTF?? and b) so what do we do about it now?  and c) enuff is enuff.

Two other side points:  I'm chilly most of the time (but that's not really new;  it's my thin Mediterranean North-Dakotan blood);  and I have no appetite.  That last?  That's the weirdest of all.  And of course eating next to nothing doesn't promote high energy either.  I don't remember EVAR having no appetite....except right after my father died -- and after Willie's funeral.  (THAT was a missed opportunity....but Lovely Daughter said it would be rude to ask for a doggy bag at a funeral.)   Truthfully?  Somewhat worrisome.