If you're looking for your next horror read, you can't go wrong with checking out 101 Horror Books to Read Before You're Murdered. Your TBR pile will grow exponentially! 

There is so much more I want to say about this book and not just because it has some terrific thoughts and recommendations on lgbtq+ reads. 

I had my second follow up appointment on Friday concerning my wrist. Except for when driving, I'm now not using my splint. And soon I will stop using it even for that.

My next medical appointment will include a bone density test. Both the ortho surgeon who originally saw me after I fell and the PA both suspect that I have osteoporosis. They both feel that the fall I described to them does not normally warrant the kind of injury I had.

This is not the first time I have heard the word osteoporosis in connection to my health. I gained 20 pounds during Covid, but in my 20s I was actually underweight a little bit and I didn't get my cycle for years.

I was told back then that I would be at risk for getting osteoporos if I didn't start getting my cycle regularly. Through acupuncture I was able to get my cycle again and get my health back to where it should've been. 

After that point through most of the rest of my 20s and my 30s and early 40s I ate well. I would fix healthy food and cook and bake and rarely ate out.

But in my mid to late 40s my anxieties started to flare up again pretty bad which affected my appetite and how I took care of myself. It was also in my late 40s that I started drinking regularly and I know that alcohol can also affect bone health.

When I fell and broke my wrist it made me think about the things that I needed to change. And my pre-op physical results only compounded that.

Where once I had extremely low blood pressure I now found I was on the borderline for high. And my blood sugar was also pretty bad, it turns out.

I realize now that I started gaining all my weight when I started drinking, and I'm hoping that now that I'm cutting back on drinking and eating better that I can lose the weight and reverse the damage that I've done to my body.

When I think back to my happiest time in my life, It was the late 90s. I was on my own for the first time and I had a pretty good thing going with my personal and professional life. I rarely had anxiety and I liked people so much

Now I find myself struggling to get through days at work so that I can be with my cat the rest of the time.

Don't get me wrong: I adore my cat. I consider him the love of my life, but I want to be so much more functional than I am.

I feel like a fraud and I don't know what the duck I'm doing. If people already can't see that, then they soon will, and that scares me so much

When I had my wrist surgery, which was now almost 7 weeks ago, the ortho surgeon prescribed me 40 OxyContin pills for pain. The label said take one every four hours, which was something I knew right from the start I was not going to do.

Move to today and I have three pills left. I am not panicking, but I am disappointed in myself that I've used nearly all of them, even if I only averaged about 4-5 a week, instead of 4-5 a day, as the suggested dose read.

I get 0 refills and I'm not panicking about that either. 

But I am going to be completely honest: I wish I did have a refill available. My pain is still chronic and (here is where I'm mortified) I like the way OxyContin makes me feel. 

I am not going to try and pursue getting more, though: I don't think that is an option and, more importantly, I don't want it to be an option.

My plan is go back to acupuncture, which I have used in the past to combat bad headaches and other kinds of pain.

As for the way oxy makes me feel: well, I was able to let go of my nightly glass (sometimes glasses) of wine after I fell and broke my wrist and I can let go of my fondness for the way I feel for a medicine I shouldn't have started taking in the first place. 

Bringing it home with me the day of the surgery, it almost felt like I had a loaded gun in my possession. I told myself I was going to toss it after the first four days, but instead I just held off on taking it and painstakingly saved it for only the days I could not bear the pain.

There are other ways to manage pain and anxiety (the bigger reason I found myself liking Oxy more than I should) and I am going to be find them and follow through, ideally in the most natural of ways.

 

I get this, way beyond any words I could ever express...it's from Vanity Fair magazine, in the early 1920s:

 

Sabotage 

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the sandy shores of Gilligan’s Island. The seven castaways—Gilligan, the Skipper, the Professor, Mary Ann, Ginger, Mr. Howell, and Mrs. Howell—had been stranded here for what felt like an eternity. 

But secretly, they reveled in their isolation.

Gilligan, the bumbling first mate, had grown fond of the simple life. No more deadlines, no more rat race. He’d become the island’s unofficial coconut expert, fashioning intricate sculptures out of the fibrous shells. He’d even taught the parrots to sing show tunes.

The Skipper, gruff and lovable, had found solace in the rhythm of the waves. He’d traded his captain’s hat for a straw one, and every morning, he’d sit on the beach, fishing rod in hand, waiting for the elusive giant clam that had become his white whale.

The Professor, brilliant but socially awkward, had discovered a hidden passion for botany. He’d cataloged every plant on the island, naming them after famous scientists. His prized specimen, the “Darwinia Palm,” stood tall near the lagoon.

Mary Ann, the girl-next-door, had embraced her inner survivalist. She’d perfected the art of coconut milk pancakes and woven baskets from palm fronds. Her sun-kissed skin and freckles had become her badge of honor.

Ginger, the glamorous movie star, had traded her sequined gowns for sarongs. She’d built a makeshift stage near the campfire and performed one-woman shows, reenacting scenes from her old films. The applause of the palm trees was all she needed.

Mr. Howell, the millionaire, had lost count of his imaginary bank accounts. He’d become the island’s financial advisor, doling out coconuts like currency. His wife, Mrs. Howell, had taken up watercolor painting, capturing the island’s beauty in soft pastels.

And so, they whispered their secrets to the rustling palm fronds:

“I don’t miss life at sea,” Gilligan confessed to a curious hermit crab.

“I’ve forgotten what a high-society gala even looks like,” Ginger murmured to the wind.

“I never want to see the university again,” the Professor admitted to a passing seagull.

“Diamonds are lovely, but starlit skies are priceless,” Mrs. Howell confided in a moonlit night.

“I don't miss keeping track of stocks,” Mr. Howell whispered to the waves.

And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, they reveled in their secret pact. 

They’d sabotage every rescue attempt—the coconut radio would mysteriously malfunction, the signal fire would sputter out. They’d laugh and dance around the bonfire, celebrating their freedom from the outside world.

For on Gilligan’s Island, they were no longer castaways. They were a family, bound by sunsets and sea breezes, content in their tropical paradise. 

And so, they whispered their silent prayer:

“May the rescue boats never find us.”

.

 

Fringe Benefits

(Fringe fanfiction) 

In the dimly lit lab of Harvard University, the air was thick with the scent of strawberries. Walter Bishop, the brilliant yet eccentric scientist, was in the midst of a culinary experiment that had nothing to do with the fate of the universe, yet everything to do with the perfection of taste.

“Ah, Astrid, my dear,” Walter called out, not taking his eyes off the blender that whirred with a pink concoction. “Would you be so kind as to pass me the sugar? This batch of strawberry milkshake will be my masterpiece!”

Astrid Farnsworth, ever the patient assistant, handed him the sugar with a smile. “I’m sure it will be, Walter. Just don’t blow up the lab this time.”

Just as Walter was about to respond, the air shimmered, and Fauxlivia Dunham stepped through from the alternate universe. Her red hair was a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the lab.

“Walter, I need your help,” she said urgently, but her eyes couldn’t help but wander to the blender. “Is that a strawberry milkshake?”

Walter, unfazed by the sudden visit, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Would you like to try it? It’s not just any milkshake; it’s the elixir of joy, the liquid embodiment of bliss!”

Fauxlivia couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure, Walter. Let’s save the universe after a milkshake break.”

As the three of them stood around the lab’s old table, sipping on the creamy drink, for a moment, the troubles of their worlds seemed to melt away, one strawberry milkshake at a time.