This past Monday R.J and I celebrated our seven year anniversary.
These are the flowers he brought home after work. He also brought home a foot massager, a thermal heat wrap, and like the most high end fuzzy socks on the market. You have no idea how I feel about fuzzy socks. Necessity. Life. Survival.
Can you imagine the amount of love I have for this boy if that’s how I feel about the socks he brings home for me?
It’s like nuclear-esque. It’s catastrophic.
And it’s been that way for every last second of the seven years we’ve been together.
So if you read about our engagement on our last anniversary, you’ll know all about the raging thunderstorm that followed us from Boca Raton to St. Augustine. And the tornado alert that came on just as R.j was getting down on one knee.
In the true spirit of the occasion we were also dodging a major thunderstorm on our way to Delray for dinner. R.J took me to one of our favorite restaurants called Dada’s just off Atlantic Avenue.
It was a beautiful night with great food and candlelight and warm banana bread with bourbon maple syrup and caramelized bananas. (How does it get any better than warm banana bread?)
My week went abruptly downhill after that.
The first thing to go was my blood pressure
Which, for no reason I can explain, dropped to stupid levels.
And then on Wednesday I had an appointment with a new sleep doctor. I was already feeling mega-lousy and really didn’t think there was all that much of a point in going to another sleep doctor. But the fact that I was feeling too sleepy to go to the sleep doctor convinced me that I should probably see the sleep doctor.
The new doctor wasn’t necessarily far from me so much as it was in the direction I normally never go in. So I decided to take the highway there since it was only two exits. But being so sleep-deprived I was putting myself on high alert about watching ever car in a two mile radius and by the time I pulled off at my exit I was like…
And then I dizzily made my way up three flights of stairs carrying my giant medical binder. When I got to the waiting room I sat down, stuffed some Altoids in my mouth to try to halt the heavy breathing = nausea = puking all over the waiting room chain of events. Then I flipped through my binder and realized, with an impending sense of doom, that the copy of my sleep study was back in the car.
I spent ten minutes trying to get the right person on the phone at my other sleep doctor’s office to send over a copy before the secretary at the current doctor told me she already had it.
Long story short, long wait, quick appointment, no idea what to do with me, and water continues being wet.
(But things are starting to look up– I took on a new client today, ate a waffle the size of my head and just took a half hour walk with R.J across the neighborhood!)
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