The dreadful afternoon spins

It seems that something has not been right with me for a little while. Or, if you've known me for  a long time you might argue that I've never been quite right, but that's another entry for another rainy day.

I know that my medication has some influence on how I feel throughout the day, both good and bad. I turn into a different person when I'm not on my meds, I'm an angry, emotional monster, and that is putting it nicely. So, though I resisted for quite a long time, I finally made the decision to take medication. It calms me, makes me relax, chill. But that makes me tired, but it is a different kind of tired. It's a listlessness, a sort of physical weakness. It's being drained all the time.

But over the last few months something else seems to be going on. I get really dizzy and nauseous in the afternoons. It feels like the entire room is spinning, like I just stepped off one of those wild rides at the state fair. And the nausea is terrible. I have not quite lost my lunch on my desk yet, but I've been damn close.

And the fatigue has been out of control, I feel like I can barely move most of the time.

I don't understand . . . I have been exercising, it's been almost a year since I started going to the gym. I've been eating well and I drink tons of water. I try to get enough sleep but I have kids, so, well you know how that goes. So what the hell is going on? I feel awful!

It has gotten progressively worse, I have even asked Mike to come pick me up from work early because I just can't focus when the room is spinning. Last Friday was the last straw . . . it was worse than ever.  I have put off going to the doctor for a long time, I mean, I thought it would pass. Also, I am used to just sort of pushing through when I'm sick. If I have a cold, a sprain, whatever I still go about as usual, I don't let stuff like this get to me normally.

I'm probably just rambling now, I guess that's part of this whole deal, I just can't think straight for more than a moment or two. I've been leaving my keys on the counter when I go out to start the car, and I've been zoning out quite a bit too. Someone will be talking to me and I try to listen but it's like my brain just shuts off and the words, the sentences don't click. I hear it, but I don't understand it.

I'm only 35, so what does this mean? Stress? That's a give-in.  I'm going in to get checked out Thursday.

Mystery in the dark

My drive to the gym takes me, in part, past a little mini-mall on the north side of town. By the time I go to the gym it is thoroughly dark outside (thanks, Winter Solstice) and the stores are closed, because, you know, why would any business want to stay open later than 7 p.m., right?

With the lights out (it's less dangerous?) the building blend into the scenery. Combined with my frequenting the route it has become little more than a landmark that tells me I'm almost at my destination.

But I've found something to look forward to here. 

Most nights, with the exception of particularly frigid ones, an old man stands in near complete darkness on the west side of the building. He wears a thick blue coat and his hands and protected from the biting cold by black gloves. He also wears a dark blue hat, the kind with the little flaps that fold down over your ears. He holds a cane in his left hand, looking out toward one of the city's busiest intersections —watching? Waiting? 

We have made eye contact more than once. I see him only for a brief moment as I turn right onto the road that passes his side of the building. Sometimes he is walking across the parking lot as I pass, heading toward his post.

He seems to be a gentle soul, the deep lines in his face tells me he's been on this earth more than most. 

He does not appear to be homeless, but there are not really too many houses nearby either, which baffles me. Where does he come from?

I have so many questions. A part of me wants to stop one night and simply ask him if he is Ok. Does he have a warm place to sleep at night? Does he have enough to eat?

But then there is another part of me that enjoys this mystery and weird connection that we share (and, like I said, he does not appear homeless, his coat, hair, etc. are all clean as far as I can tell. If he appeared homeless there would be no question to stop or not).

He appears to be reminiscing, thinking, watching, but what and why? What is his story? Why does he stand there nearly every night? Is he lonely? 

Now each night that I drive by I make it a point to look for him. My inner child plays with the idea that maybe only I can see him. Maybe he's some sort of earthbound spirit. I'd like to know . . .  or maybe not.