I think I am in perimenopause. I am experiencing a sudden burning from the inside that spreads like fire and I try to put it out by removing blankets or dousing myself in water. And by dousing myself in water, I mean the underside of my boobs sweat so much that they leave a pattern on my T-shirt, and sweat runs down my chest as if I have just ran a marathon all while sleeping. Some marathons give me so much sweat I need to change my shirt.
Jon thinks it’s strange compared to the way I used to sleep like I was preparing to rest on a Minnesota snowbank for the night – T-shirt, sweatpants, sweatshirt, and socks. Now, it’s just me and a T-shirt. I like to use the blankets to create a mountain in the middle of the bed while Jon is over there shivering covered up to his eyebrows.
The roles have reversed and I am now “The Furnace.” Yes, it is unfair. When he was “The Furnace” my icy toes could meld into his leg if I forgot the socks. His can’t touch mine. That feels gross. My feet are not gross. Except when they get all black from my attempt to walk barefoot while in the campground. The grass is replaced by concrete and it just doesn’t have that same squish to it or natural feel. And the dust just sticks to the bottom of my feet which I really should wash off every night before bed.
It is the perimenopause that has motivated me to go and see the local Naturopathic Doctor, and my sore shoulder. I attempted to fix my sore shoulder by switching which side of the bed I slept on. It helps a little to sleep on my other shoulder, but now my things in the corner cabinet are on the other side of the bed. I feel like my nest has a hole in it where the wind can blow through the twigs and feathers I have gathered. I am not quite all the way wrapped safely inside.
I don’t really love sleeping underneath Jon’s cabinet which holds unpretty things like silicone for the toilet hatch. We don’t flush our toilet like normal people. We use our foot to step on a pedal that opens a hatch like on an airplane toilet. And when it starts getting gummed up by poop, it doesn’t shut all the way. When it doesn’t shut all of the way it means that we have a direct smell line into the black tank which stores all of our stink. It’s enough to make you gag. So, I am very glad that Jon has the stomach to get on in there and clean that slider thingy and add some silicone. All the while I pretend he is on a walk somewhere outside looking at clouds floating by so I don’t start imagining what he is really doing and has found.
Other items in Jon’s cabinet do not lead me to think of poop. Which is comforting. I don’t like to talk about that subject. I don’t even think any of mine is in that black tank because I don’t poop. I’m a girl.
Anyway, other items Jon has gathered like a squirrel and packed into this cabinet above my head are including but not limited to:
- a clip-on soldering heat sink
- a flashlight
- halogen bulbs,
- a hook-and-eye in case of emergency if ours breaks on our bedroom pocket door while being romantical
- knife sharpener
- “Pocket Guide to Animal Tracks” in case we wonder who has been in the RV
- bear spray for intruders or a bear if you could really wait until that giant Grizzly was four feet from your face while hiking and still remember how to spray it.
I was hoping my shoulder would heal itself and I could go back under my cabinet of candles, journals, books, and a wine opener. I am just too lazy to switch the junk around. Wouldn’t it be easier to just roll to the other side of the bed after my shoulder feels better?
I tried two massages which felt wonderful, yet did not release my shoulder pain. Today, I see my Naturopathic Doctor who is also a certified Acupuncturist. This will be my first time having needles stuck in my body.
I hope I don’t faint.
(Photo by Irina Blok)