Time on Treadmill: 30 minutes.
Exasperation with Orange Cat who insists on unrolling toilet paper rolls: Infinite.

I …

Okay …

Let’s start at the beginning. As you know (Bob), I’m in perimenopause, have been for well over a year, which means that my period comes if and when it damn well pleases. And lo, it showed up this morning, a full week after it was supposed to start so apparently my cycle is now thirty-five days. Whee.

But that’s not the unexpected thing. The unexpected thing is that I’ve put on water weight. Yeah, yeah, I know, but let me explain. One of the big problems I’ve always had with my malfunctioning ovaries is that I would put on water weight during both my menstrual period and my fertile period. And when we’re talking water weight, I don’t mean a pound or two — I mean five to seven pounds. Yeah, it was that bad. And it happened twice a month, which made life ever so pleasant and any attempt at weight loss pretty much useless (you try losing two pounds over two weeks, then gaining five to seven pounds for five days, then slowly shedding it, then gaining it all AGAIN two weeks later, and see how disgusted you get with your own metabolism).

But since I’ve started doing three things — using progesterone cream, taking alpha lipoic acid and cinnamon with chromium supplements (Ramón’s doctor suggested that Ramón start taking them for his diabetes, since they’re supposed to help balance a borked metabolism. Since diabetes, PCOS, and Hashimoto’s are all metabolic disorders, I thought I’d try them as well) and walking thirty minutes a day, there have been some changes. For one thing, I didn’t retain any water during my last fertile period, which was a blessing and a half.

For another, the slow but steady weight loss I’ve seen since I started working with Chuck stopped a couple of days ago. I didn’t worry about it that much (all of this is intended to make me stronger and build my endurance, after all — any weight loss is simply a nice perk), but it was mildly annoying.

When Aunt Flo made her appearance this morning, however, I estimated I was retaining about three or four pounds of water weight, judging from the puffiness of my extremities and the way my knees feel. And then I stepped on the scale and learned … I hadn’t gained any weight. In fact, I was actually about a half pound down. Which means that I had continued the slow, steady weight loss — the water weight just fooled me into thinking it had stopped. Once everything wraps up on Sunday, I should see a three-to-four pound drop a day or two later as all that retained water goes bye-bye.

People, I cannot stress how much of a game changer this is. My ovaries and my crappy thyroid have wreaked hormonal havoc on my metabolism for forty years. If perimenopause combined with the exercise, supplements, and progesterone are finally, FINALLY getting them to calm the fuck down, this counts as an actual miracle in my eyes.

Also, if what I think will happen does happen on Monday, I should be at the lowest weight I’ve been in about five years. So I have that going for me.

Time on Treadmill: 30 minutes.
Delight at cooler weather: Doing the Moldavian Dance of Joy.

I know this is only a brief respite. I know that Mother Nature is merely putting the tip in, teasing us with a reminder of what decent temps are like. But oh my friends, it never hit 90°F today in the clavicle of Texas and that made me a very happy camper because it meant I could finish up some projects in the garage during the DAY. What a concept.

As a result both my jade pendants are now finished (see below — I’d gotten the cabochons years ago, meaning to turn them into earrings. When I pulled them out a few days ago, I realized that they were way too big for that and should be pendants), and a pair of earrings for a friend are now in the tumbler and awaiting setting tomorrow. I’m trying to build stock because I’m going to be doing a show in two weeks AND sending some of my pieces to Armadillocon for their art show (also, I need money, but that’s the norm these days), so I’m pretty happy with my production schedule so far. Once I finish the friend’s earrings, I have a super cool pendant I want to do with a carnelian cabochon and a flame bezel, and a set of scrollwork aquamarine earrings.

Yes, I’m still writing. But if I’m frank, sweethearts, right now I make more money off the jewelry and I have bills to pay right away so that’s what I have to focus on. Don’t worry — I’m still working on King of Blades and Uncertainty Principle, and both books will be out this year alone with the still untitled romcom about the actors. Of course, I would be able to spend more time writing if people bought my sparklies, just saying…

In other news, my childhood has been officially ruined by a gentleman who goes by the nom de plume of Weird Dad. Weird Dad decided to use FaceApp, that darling of Russian data scrapers, to put a beard on someone.

To be specific, he put a beard on pictures of Mr. Rogers. Yes, the same gentleman of “It’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” fame, a kind and gentle soul who helped generations of children learn how to look for helpers, and most likely the only bodhisattva most of us will ever know in our lifetimes. And this innocent prank did something that absolutely no one, including Weird Dad, expected–

It made Mr. Rogers bangable. I swear to God, all of the romance writers I know on Twitter are astounded by this, too, but it’s true (not to mention deeply disturbing). It doesn’t help that Mr R’s kinda got a Chris Evans thing going in some of the pictures. If you don’t believe me, go look for yourself.

Just don’t blame me if your childhood gets ruined, too.

Time on Treadmill: 30 sweaty, exhausted minutes.
Employment Level: Signed on the dotted line

Had a very pleasant interview with the nice folks who will be paying me to write assorted things for them. I think this is going to work out very well — it provides extra income, gives me enough time to write as well, and I get to do some really cool stuff by the looks of things. Can’t tell you much more than that, but altogether Nic is a happy camper.

In other news, I don’t know what is wrong with the Cameron Cats but my GOD they’re clingy today. Jessie greeted me this morning like I’d been away for months, Jeremy was doing his level best to trip me by flomping onto the floor wherever I was walking, Jasmine REALLY wanted to climb on me (and once I was in my interview gear I kinda had to discourage that because I didn’t want to show up covered in cat hair), and even JJ meowed piteously when I got home because I’d been GONE and he didn’t know where I WAS and I could have been DEAD for all he knew and how thoughtless could I BE, making him worry like that?

Yes, my eldest cat guilt trips me. On a regular basis, even.

The only one who was reasonable was Jemma, but she’s also the most laid-back cat in the house. She headbutts you once or twice a day when she wants to be petted, then the rest of the time she’s happy to snooze on a chair or sit in the window and watch the rabbits. And they’re gonna love me in a few minutes when I go up to the bedroom and shut them all out with only the Emergency Holographic House Ape (aka Ramón) for company.

Time on Treadmill: 30 minutes.
Apprehension Level: Xanax would be nice

So I have a job interview tomorrow that is playing hell with my ability to sleep. I’m not really worried about it — I fit the parameters easily, it’s a part-time contract position so it’s not like I’m re-enlisting with the Man, and I think I have a good shot at getting it. But I’m still nervous because this is a face-to-face meeting with strangers and I’m always a little anxious about making a good impression. And this anxiety is making itself known in a variety of ways — I can’t sleep, I screwed up two bezel settings in the garage, and of course the cats can sense this so they want to surgically attach themselves to me which, as much as I love them, is the last thing I want at this moment.

But by God I got my time in with Chuck, so I got that going for me.

Time on Treadmill: 20 minutes.
Pain Level: Considering amputation

Clearly I overdid it on the Intensity Training yesterday, seeing as I’m hobbling around like Grandma today and cursing my knees as they curse right back at me. So yeah, only twenty minutes (AT MY NORMAL SPEED) on the treadmill because anything more would have turned me into a wobbly pile of Nicola at the far end of the track.

I have limits. I keep having to remind myself of that. I am no longer sixteen years old, nor am I Xena.

On the plus side, I delivered a pendant to my editor (she saw one that I did for a family member and asked me to make her something similar, and I’m gonna be honest, I outdid myself with this one), and came away from the delivery with over a pound of absolutely delicious brisket, so guess who didn’t have to make dinner tonight? I call that a win.

Time on Treadmill: 30 minutes.
Pain Level: What the everloving fuck did I just do?

During this month of me walking on the treadmill every day, there have been some changes to my body. The expected ones, like my calves becoming things of beauty and my butt tightening up, were nice bennies, but once again I’m more interested in bumping up my endurance and strength than weight loss.

Except … I’ve lost back fat of all things, which doesn’t make any sense whatsoever but does make it hella easier to scratch between my shoulder blades. I decided to look this up (turns out there’s no correlation between walking and a smaller back, as there’s no such thing as spot reduction), and came across an article on interval training with regards to walking, where you can add thirty second bursts of power walking to your usual strolling speed of 2 MPH.

Ha. Ha ha ha. My usual strolling speed on the treadmill is 1.5 MPH, so bumping that up to 2 MPH is power walking for me. But I decided to try it. For my first 15 minute session I added seven minutes of walking at 2 MPH, and for my second session I added four minutes. Wow. That made a difference, if you could define “difference” as “being drenched in sweat while your bad knee curses at you in ancient Sumerian.”

I’m gonna try it again today.

Time on Treadmill: 45 minutes.
Energy Level: Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.

I think working in a hot garage is taking a lot out of me because man, I have been ridiculously tired all week. I’m getting enough sleep (at least, I think I am) but I wake up wiped and wind up slogging through the day until I can go to bed. I don’t feel sick, my sinuses aren’t hurting, I don’t think anything’s wrong, per se — I’m even pounding down enough water to rehydrate a fleet of camels and taking electrolytes so it’s not that.

At least it’s supposed to cool off after the weekend here in the clavicle of Texas, which is something. I plan on splitting my time cleaning, writing, and making a few new sparklies for the Etsy store (got a gorgeous pair of jade cabochons that I have plans for, muwahahahaha…), and catching up on my rest.

Time on Treadmill: 45 minutes.
Allergy Level: My eyes are sticking together

Didn’t quite manage the full hour to make up for yesterday, but I did get an extra fifteen minutes in on top of my daily half hour, and I’ll do the same tomorrow. I would’ve gotten it all done today but man, I was BUSY — contract editing work, then running to my rock and gem store to get some stuff for a couple of new pieces, then back to editing, then I had to feed and entertain the cats, then feed us, then go back to editing. It was kinda amazing that I was able to sandwich three fifteen minute sessions in among all of that.

But I did, and I feel good about it, and I finished the editing job, and I got two pieces soldered, polished, and in the tumbler (a pair of sterling and carnelian earrings and a pendant for a family member), and I came up with a new story idea, so yay for me. I figured an episode of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries was a good reward for all of that.

Time on Treadmill: 0 minutes.
Pain Level: Yeah, no

I am making an executive decision here and taking the day off from Chuck. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe not, but not only are my allergies flaring up like you would not believe, it is also incredibly painful to walk right now. The muscles up the outside of both thighs ache for some reason, and my joints — good Lord, you don’t even want to know. We’re talking hobbling and hanging onto furniture just to get around. My kind buddy J got up to get me missing silverware at the writers meeting tonight because I must have looked like I was about to cry when I discovered I hadn’t gotten a fork.

I have both knees wrapped and braces on both ankles, I’ve taken two doses of CBD oil and ibu, and all I want to do is go to bed and hopefully have a night of sleep that is moderately less agonizing than last night was.

Besides, twenty-seven straight days on the treadmill is a pretty good record, no? And if I’m feeling better tomorrow, maybe I’ll try and get an hour in with Chuck. No promises, mind you — much will depend on how I’m feeling. I don’t mind walking through a cold, but I feel so cruddy right now that I’m honestly afraid I would fall over on the damn treadmill. Health and safety first.

Time on Treadmill: 30 minutes.
Ennui Level: Parisian

Why is it that every time I get hot, sweaty, tired, grumpy, and don’t want to be touched (aka any time I’ve come in from working in the garage), that is the EXACT moment that all the cats in the house decide that they have to interact with Mom in some way? Jasmine does her best to surgically attach herself to me, Jemma headbutts my hand until I pet her, Jessie does the same thing until I let her snuggle into my left arm, Jeremy starts whining about God knows what, and JJ shouts because he’s now a shouty old man.

Never mind — they’re cats, it’s what they do. In fitness news, my butt is definitely getting smaller and firmer, but I’m also developing some aches in my left thigh that make it difficult to sleep on that side (and that’s my favorite site). I’m thinking about investing in one of those roller thingies to see if I can work the knots out that way. The weight is continuing to drop incrementally, and I can now fit back into my black jeans, which is a win. More importantly, I can do 25 minutes on the treadmill at a stretch, which means the endurance is definitely coming back, yay!