And I kind of want to go check it now. Stay tuned.

Ha, I have a spreadsheet for mine! I used to be pretty diligent about checking it regularly, but I got lazy.

I mean, I've lost weight since they last ran my bloodwork, but I'm being a pessimist so that I don't cry tomorrow when all my healthy living has not made a dent.

I'm already on meds to manage my blood pressure, and knowing my family history, probably will always.

Right there with you.

My BP is high, and I don't even worry about it anymore. This is bad, long term, I know, but my health-worry ability has kind of worn out.

edit: But I am on meds for it, and all the rest, I'm not ocmpletely insane.

I'm kind of wary of the Elf on the Shelf ... but seemingly, for Hanukkah (or however you spell it) there's now the Mensch on the Bench.

It's creepy and I don't like it. And it doesn't even make sense, since there's no Santa to report to. Plus, it's yet another thing of making Chanukah just like Christmas, rather than just letting it be its own thing.

My favorite Elf on the Shelf photo:

[link]

The Mensch on the Bench was on Shark Tank last week! At least it's potentially less creepy than the Elf, IMO, due to the lack of reporting structure....

My normal-weight dad and my normal-weight brother both have hypertension (we compare drugs to see if any of us are taking the same thing), so it's not really a goddamn surprise that my BP is elevated, too.

My normal weight sister and father have had high blood pressure since forever, as well as my slightly overweight mother.

Me? They're worried I'm too low to give meds to.

Oops?

The irony of it all is that my mother used to research hypertension, so we've been on preventative diets for over 30 years.

Can't fight genetics, but you can't predict them either.

Chocolate swamp = made and affixed to wreath. So at least I've accomplished one thing today.

The Mensch on the Bench was on Shark Tank last week!

The creator is from the Cincy area, which is a better claim to fame than some of the embarrassing weirdoes we churn out.

Unrelatedly, my car is at the shop getting a new belt (true story: I got the oil changed 2 weeks ago -- at a different place, not the one replacing my belt today -- and when I picked it up, the manager told me, "[So-and-so] mentioned a belt is starting to crack; you probably want to replace that," so I asked what belt, and the manager said, "Yeah, he didn't really say," so I decided to make my car somewhere else to replace the belt, which I assume is the serpentine), and I am always paranoid that when I drop my car off for routine maintenance that they're going to call me and tell me something horrible is wrong with my car, way beyond needing a new belt, like my engine is transmogrifying into a hippogriff or something.

I guess that would be okay if hippogriffs are fuel-efficient.

Steph, you've come up in conversation so many times lately.

I'm struggling with my own bulging discs, and the sentence "She's the literal poster child for the surgery" has been said to so many different (and impressed) people.

I think I need that. I wish I knew I had health insurance for 2015. I've jumped through the hoops, and this is $300 cheaper than COBRA, the bastards. I'm assuming I couldn't have signed up for earlier, but I'm thinking of the $1800 over that I've paid since being let off, and it stings.

This work thing is complicated. There's a company between the recruiter and the place I'd actually work, and they owe me a "document". I'll sign over my remaining aged eggs, and let's get started!

By the way, I'm terrified of my pain and the trip home. I've been worrying the shit out of my mother, apparently, because I'm not talking to her enough, and she's depressed and not eating. I tried to explain to my sister that it's unfair to throw that at an already depressed me, but she's sure the ball is in my court.

They'll see me on Monday! Why do I have to make small talk signs of life until then?