Day 281 of 365

There were lots of opportunities for me to take pictures of things as I worked through the house today.

I considered taking a picture of my bedroom. I now, after months and months of wanting to go with a spa-themed room, have made some changes. As of today I have new sheets, a new blanket, a new down comforter, and new curtains. Months ago we took the curtains down in the den with the intent of putting them up in the bedroom when we were ready. I've endured many, many evenings of wearing a baseball cap in the den because the setting sun in the window behind the computer was blinding. (It would have made a lot more sense to have left the curtains in the den until we were ready to move them to the bedroom, but I wasn't thinking.)

I could have taken pictures of all the Christmas presents we got wrapped today, or the roses we finally pruned and hauled to the trashcan, the organizing we did, or our belated tree-trimming Mexican feast we're finally getting to have tonight. But one shocking sight took priority over the other potential pictures.

In my continuation of the FlyLady way, I worked on my linen closet today. It has been pretty clean and neat all along, but I've been running out of room for one thing in particular.

Used needles.

I use needles for my methotrexate and I have pre-filled syringes of my Enbrel that I put in those red sharps containers when I'm finished. But drugstores around here won't take the full containers, the drug company that sent them to me won't take them, and doctors and hospitals won't take them. So they sit, full, in my linen closet. Mostly full of the big Enbrel shots.

Today I took the Enbrel out of the containers to make room for the other smaller, more dangerous syringes. When I gathered them up it hit me.

This is what $13,000 looks like. Drug companies should be embarrassed.

Day 280 of 365

Serendipity. Coincidence. Fate. Kismet. Karma. Whatever you want to call it, it happened.

Last night after another consecutive night of me not getting home from work until after dark, my husband and I sat in the living room with the Christmas tree lights on and the Christmas music playing. We talked about lots of things - school things, home things, Christmas things, and blog things.

I was sharing with him how I have less than three months left of this take take-a-picture-every-day-to-see-that-you-have-lived kind of goal. How I've been thinking about what happens next. What happens with everything I've written. With what happens on Day 366.

I've been contemplating just going with a picture a day with a caption - no writing. No life stories would be told. No venting, no frustrations, no exciting events would be recorded. If it weren't for the pictures, I wouldn't know what I did with my life over the past months. Yet, without the writing to go along with it I wouldn't know how I felt about what was happening.

Some days the writing is difficult. There are some days at work when I'm writing for 9 hours straight. Then I come home and write my blog. I've been feeling that my blog writing isn't improving because my brain cells are being used up with work writing. And really, who cares that I get shocked in the grocery store or that the cat bawls a lot?

So the picture a day with caption was what I told me husband. But...

Just a few minutes after that conversation I received a phone call. A phone from someone I know. Someone who has just recently started reading my blog. It was a one-sided conversation, with the person being oh-so-kind about what I'm doing with my writing, my pictures, and my sewing for charity. About the inspiration that the blog provided. Inspiration that despite health issues, I have done something good. It quite humbled me that someone else saw the importance of what I've been documenting.

We all need a boost once in a while. A confirmation that we're on the right track. That the light at the end of the tunnel isn't a train.

It was the boost I needed. It made me even more determined to get another quilt finished today for Operation Kid Comfort.