This is probably going to be a rambling post.

My brain is a bit scattered, and I’m trying to stay busy while waiting for when to leave for the oxygen casket.

For the precious month of December and maybe a week of January, Jason has reduced work. My class is usually on break. It’s cold out, and there tends not to be a push to do things outside – or at least the conceived notion to do so — like my anxiety-fueled self-obsession with mowing the lawn, failing, and having a mental breakdown.

Being embarrassed and upset about the dinners is a thing, but I think it’s gotten better. Even if no one else really does, I think it does since I’m actually ‘eating.’ I use quotes because what I consider eating isn’t what others may or could even disapprove of. But the blood markers are good, and I’m comfortable with them.

So… it’s kind of like a white noise time of year.

When I was rolling into 2025, I was exceedingly anxious – depressed. I felt that once everyone returned to their normal lives of work and whatever that I would lose the feeling of support and community. (Rather it be lost or not, the ‘feeling’ of losing it is enough to make me crazy.)

But that didn’t happen. Well, sort of, but it was enough I could handle it. And, for the most part, I felt that I was stable for 2025.

Well, mostly mentally stable. The T-Virus is a whole other issue.

I’m trying to start 2026 with a bit better outlook. It’s difficult to departmentalize the anger… regret… depression… but I’m trying.

Everyone I love is still here. I actually (if nothing happens in the next week) made it through a full calendar year without a hospital stay. Goals met.

I guess that my current biggest concerns – as of right now at 7:23, are hoping that the little sister and others don’t think I’m taking advantage of their goodwill. If I am, I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. Maybe this is an extension of reliance. I don’t know.

Concern 2 – getting through today’s (and future sessions) of the oxygen casket without having to take a piss. Once I’m locked into the tube, I can’t easily get out. Once out, I can’t go back in. With a weak bladder, I have zero to very little time between the feeling and the action.

To compensate, I try to make myself as dehydrated as possible – which imposes its own issues of being uncomfortable, unable to speak, and a bunch of stuff. I find my reliance on gum to be ever-increasing as it helps keep my mouth moist.

The oxygen casket is a five times a week activity – only the weekends off. It’s HBOT if you’re unfamiliar.

Hyperbaric oxygen therapy – Mayo Clinic

I think I have some 20 more sessions to go, if not more.

Essentially, I’m locked in a plastic tube for nearly two hours. Eight minutes to inflate. Eight minutes to deflate. Two hours of pure oxygen.

(Can that be addictive? Breathing pure oxygen?)

I’m so riddled with infection that this is an effort to help bring it under control – as if I’d do anything intentionally ‘in control.’ I got to be me.

Anyway, I’m not thrilled about the whole casket thing. Just the possibility of losing control and trying to decide if I want to marinate in my own piss or get someone to let me out – is the main concern.

Hopefully, it’ll never come to that.
20 more (min) to go! Oh gods.

Concern 3 – returning to ‘normal.’
Being around the little sister has helped a lot with this.

I actually did a trifecta – I got a mani, pedi, and a wax – paid for it myself – and even tipped. I went to Dunkin for a tea — didn’t get one because they closed at 3. It was Christmas Eve.

But I actually went.

99.99999999% of the time I would NEVER EVER EVER do this.

But I did. It was kind of liberating. It was different. It was ‘normal.’ There was no justification gymnastics about why I should or shouldn’t. I just did and, for once, didn’t worry about the cost or if I deserve it.

I just went.
Well, I went in for a pedi but was talked into the other stuff.

I ALLOWED myself to be talked into it.

To me, the little sister has a scary addiction to Dunkin (formerly Starbucks) But, again… that’s just to me and the way I’m a miser of Scrooge proportions.

But she does it. And we’ve hung around so frequently lately, I find myself wanting a drink and wanting a tea from Dunkin’ or something instead of downing the perfectly good soda I brought with me.

Given that I’m dehydrated 99% of the time from the oxygen casket, I’m constantly thirsty.

I’m even SLEEPING better – longer – more deeply.

Once the white noise months are over, I’ll go back to being a miser. I’ll go back to four hours a night.

I just hope I don’t punish myself for the spending.
I could teach a masterclass on self-flogging.

Well, it’s about that time.
I Snow White myself and go into a casket.

Yay.
But… It’s supposed to reduce wrinkles.
I definitely need some de-aging.

I don’t want normal.
I want stability.

Does that even exist?