Castle in Every day scata

I hurt like a son of a bitch. The dumb ass doctor that told me to check my ego at the door gave me trigger point injections yesterday. So far, they aren’t working. I’ve been doing my stretches like she didn’t tell me to do (thank you google for letting me know this) but I’m sore as hell.

Like I said yesterday, because of her shitty attitude (doesn’t believe in bipolar disorder or fibro) towards me I won’t be going back to her. She didn’t listen to a word I said, and had no fucking compassion whatsoever. The pain clinic the PA wants me to go to is way too far away, and the one I used to go to treated me like shit when I went there when my SI joint was truly fucked up. That’s a long story so whatever.

In other news, I need a haircut. I have a box of hair color, and I’m dying to use it, but I want my hair cut first.

P and I bought a juicer. I love it but what a fucking pain in the ass. It takes me a half hour to prep the fruit and veggies to get a glass of juice. I keep reminding myself that it’s super healthy blah blah blah.

I’m stuck at that five more pounds to lose point. I really need to get on the dreadmill but the depression is just… ugh. Yeah, I know all the facts. It will help the depression, the pain, all that shit. I just can’t make myself do anything. I’ve just started listening to music again (you can tell when I’m super depressed. No music) so maybe I’m on an upswing.

Did I mention I got the job at the group home? I’ll be working weekends, 3p-11p. I’m really quite anxious about it because I’ve never worked directly with mentally disabled residents. I’m hoping that I’ll like the job, and that I will be good at it. It’s not the liking part that worries me the most, though. It’s the being good at the job. I feel like I suck at so much at life that when it comes to jobs I want to be the best I can be.

Anyhoo. Life is still boring.

I’ll see ya later.