I started week three of the program last night and successfully was able to run five minute intervals, with the one minute walk in between, for thirty minutes. Tyson tells me that this is a huge accomplishment… and I appreciated that.

Since it is winter (um, it’s freaking COLD out there) and I am running on the Mill, I can tell you that the pace that I “run” at is a 14 minute, 17 second mile and the pace that I walk at is a 20 minute mile. I told you that I was happy I could take this program at my own (leisurely) pace… and, well, I am also very happy that this is NOT a race. Cuz…. uh…. I would be, like, uh, LOSING! But, whatever, right? I may be “running” at a pace of a somewhat fast walk, but I AM running (~cough~ jogging ~cough~) and that is saying something considering that I do happen to have one angry, protesting right foot on my hands.

So, how is the angry foot?
Last night, after the run/walk, I thought all was well and usual. The foot was dark pink, a tad swollen and tingly. Big deal. Been there lots of times and I have learned to largely ignore and move on. Which is exactly what I did. Fast forward to this morning at about 6:03 am.

Two words I have for you:
The. BURN.

I had actually been sleeping well. I know because I hadn’t woken up once last night and I hadn’t been half awake all night. So, to awaken from such a deep, wonderful, sleep only to experience BURNing pain and the sound of a moan escaping my larynx is not the greatest way to wake up. I couldn’t even bear to have the sheets touching my foot. It was enough that air had to touch it. Every few seconds brought what felt like fine, flaming needles that would jab into my poor foot ceaselessly. After the flaming needles went away the temperature of my foot would drop to well below zero and I would attempt to warm it up by putting it under the sheets. Not a great idea… Because then the flaming needles would return and the temperature of my foot would soar to literally two-million degrees. (Ok, maybe not literally, but you get the idea.) Then, the cycle would begin again. (And as I lay here typing out this blog, the cycle is still happening, even though I am writing in the past-tense.)

Oh, yes. I can’t win when the RSD decides to hang out in it’s pajamas and watch an after-school special inside my S-1 nerve. Nothing.Helps. NOTHING. And I hate it.
And I also don’t know how long this is going to last.
And I also don’t know if I’m going to be able to put shoes on today. And that’s always good times.

I don’t know if this running project of mine is making this happen.
I kinda don’t think so because this stuff has been going on anyways for three years. If the frequency of the BURN goes up, or the intensity of the pain, or if new symptoms of RSD start happening, then I’ll blame the running project. But until that happens, I am loathe to blame Project: Nello Runs and jump ship this early.

RSD seriously, seriously sucks. I am reminded of that fact, especially, on days like today where it really, REALLY hurts and threatens to disrupt my day and my family’s day. I really HATE that right now I am not sure what shoes I am going to be able to wear… or even, if I can get shoes on, what am I going to look like walking? Probably I’ll be walking with some sort of limp that I’ll be trying to cover up so I won’t have to answer any questions from people who really don’t want the real answer. Is it a good idea to walk today? Or will walking just make the RSD worse to where tomorrow I won’t even be able to walk even with a limp?

These are some the thoughts that I have on my RSD days. And they are so incredibly exhausting… (also they are rated PG and devoid of the cuss words that are usually floating around in my head.) Right now my foot is just an aching, BURNing, sore, mess and I kinda wish sometimes that someone would cut it off and hook me up with some robotic replacement ala Anakin Skywalker’s replacement hand that he got at the end of Episode II (I think that’s when he got it) or Wormtail’s replacement hand that Voldemort gave him at the end of The Goblet of Fire. (Erm… I’m pretty sure I just unveiled myself, once again, as a HUGE geek… but I don’t really care because I have done that sooo many times on this blog that by now this should not be a shock to any reader of The Diary.) I kindof think that would be pretty great. Either give me a cool robotic foot or give me a new and improved S-1 nerve that is FREE of RSD/CRPS, please.

Well, now it’s about that time that I have to drag my bum foot out of bed and attempt to do things that I already don’t want to do because I know that it is all going to involve lots of BURN and lots of pain.
I am foreseeing a day that is going to involve me wearing socks (wool socks) with sandals.
The truest of true fashion sins in my book… but possibly unavoidable today.

~sigh~ This promises to be a most un-fun day.
(It also involves Calculus…)

It was bound to happen.
It happens to all of us.

~sigh~ Birthdays.
I’ve had 30 of them.

Yesterday I said a teary goodbye to my 20’s.
In fact, I’ve been saying that same teary goodbye for three days now. (Yeah. That would be the day before the doomday, the day of, and now TA-DAY!) (And yes I meant to type ‘TA-DAY’.)

I think I’m really emotional not because I just loved my 20’s so much, but because I’ve just been put through the ringer about five times over and I am tired. I think my tears are somewhat happy, actually. To say goodbye to the past three years is seriously a welcome moment in my life. But the sadness returns when I think the stupid and DUMB thought that now I am old.

Walking into my 3rd decade seems much like I’m about to look down a scary, steep, precipice. I don’t really want to look down that steep, sloping valley, but Time, it seems, is ruthless. That big-fat-brat “Time” is pushing me against my will. I’m gonna have to look soon, I know that. So I might as well embrace my age and say to hell with it all!

I’m freaking 30 years old and I look better now than ever before. (You read that right.)
I’m 30 freaking years old and I am determined to feel younger and more healthy from this day forward. So what to do from here? Be happy and do the things that I always wanted to do but couldn’t do in my 20’s.

So guess what Ladies (and the few Gents that lurk here)?
It turns out that 30 really is the new 20.
And I am now living the Dream.

I brought my party to Helene because she was too konked to make it!

And this is my Red Velvet birthday cake. Oh.Baby.

Answer: Your mind is literally filled to the brim with random, useless things (read: things that only YOU will think are funny) to write about.

I am pleased to announce that I am there.
Oh yes. I am ready to do this thing.

First on my list? Uhhh… do you notice that just to have January on my blog archive list that I post-dated the last entry (read: cheated)? Yeah. My O.C.D. is in full effect and I could not feel more normal.

Second. I am ever aware of my cyclical food cravings. I don’t know that I’ve ever written about this issue of mine specifically, but I know I’ve mentioned random cravings here and there. I think the last one I wrote about was Jujy Fruit candy. As of late, things have become quite interesting as far as what my body (not my mind) is telling me to eat. The first and foremost is potato bread with mayo, mustard, turkey, provolone and smashed Lay’s Pototo Chips. High fat and bad for you. Oh, how I love it. (Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.) The next craving I have is bubble gum. Yes. That would most certainly be the little kid, turn your mouth unnatural colors-not long lasting high sugar flavor, bubble gum. Oh.Baby. And the last one that I’ll admit to is bagels with cream cheese…. toasted with way too much cream cheese. This one is SO bad that I have one almost every. single. morning.

As you can see, I am back to, what I like to call, “Nello-Normal”. It is so good to be here.

Things have been ever the same over the last few months. I still have foot problems, I’m still a citizen of crazyland, and I still have carpal tunell syndrome. I’ve added a few medical related problems to that list…. (one being I have surgical screws working their way OUT of BOTH of my feet) but what else did you expect? I actually will get my carpal tunell surgery on February 15th and I am seriously SO happy and excited. I absolutely cannot WAIT for my right hand to NOT be swollen. Here’s to no more fat fingers!!! After that surgery will most likely be foot surgery which will probably be followed by a few more series of the dreaded nerve blocks. Blahblhablahbleeblooblooblooblooblee.

Now I’m going to completely get serious on you. I know. I’m sorry… but it has to be done.
In the middle of December I found out that one of my very best friends on this great green earth has breast cancer. She is 29 and has 3 little boys all under the age of 6. She had a double mastectomy with reconstruction a week or so before Christmas and is now undergoing chemotherapy. Char is a stage 2 cancer and her Doctors are very, very confident that this cancer of hers is treatable. I went to see her and help her out in the middle of January and I plan to see her again the very next possible time I can get away. My heart broke when I found out and it broke even more when I was with her. I know she is going to be ok, but it kills me to know of what she is going through right now and also that there is even the slightest chance that I may not be able to see her until the hereafter. Sheesh. I can’t even get through this stupid paragraph without tearing up. I know that we are all very aware of what breast cancer is. I just want to ask all of you to do a little bit extra to contribute to the research being done to find a cure for this horrible disease. I would die a little inside if I lost my friend. So please, can we all get on the stick and do something? Walk a “Race for the Cure”, donate to the Susan G. Komen fund, or even donate the top of your Yoplait lids. All I have to do is think of Char’s family and I want to do all I can. She has the cutest little boys on the planet (except my Simon, of course) and they need their Mommy. Heck. I need their Mommy.

The very last thing I wanted to do on this comeback post is to write my very first “open letter”. (A blog cliche, to be sure, but I think for my purposes, there is no other way.)

An open letter the A-holes that broke into my car and stole my purse while it was parked in my Church parking lot:

Dear A-holes,
I just wanted to say thank you for violating my personal property. I cannot tell you the joy I felt when I walked out of Church to find that my purse, wallet, and phone were stolen while I was attempting to “better” myself. I was so happy to find out that you had a hey-day at Ross with my debit card. I seriously hope you got some kickbutt steals and at least got away with a great pair of Reeboks and/or L.A. Gear jeans. After your run at Ross it is clear that your car needed fuel and that you needed to buy some overpriced slurpee because you spent nearly a hundo (read: hundred bucks) at the nearest “quickie-mart”.
I could go on and on about how you attempted to fleece me, but I really don’t have the time as the list is so long and so. DAMN. ridiculous. If I could just give you some friendly advice, however, that would be great. I think you should buy yourself a dictionary with my credit card. Really. I’ll let you. I would love you to look up the words, “mine” and “yours” and then attempt to demonstrate, by not stealing other people’s possessions, that you understand the meaning of those two very elementary terms.
Thanks so much,
Nello
ps. You are a dirtbag and I hope you go to prison.

I leave you all now with a very belated (so belated, in fact, that it is FUNNY) Christmas greeting from the Family of Nello.

So.
Yesterday I was standing in my kitchen tending to my kids’ Betta fishes.

All of the sudden, in one of those rare moments, everyone in the house went quiet. The kids and I were quiet just long enough for me to hear a clicking sound coming from behind our bin of beans. At first I thought I was hearing things so I walked closer to the bin only to hear it again. At this point my freak-o-meter was zooming up to very dangerous levels. I decide that I can get no closer to the bin, but I can stomp on the floor to scare whatever it is that’s behind the beans. The stomping doesn’t work and the clicking continues. I begin to think that whatever it is behind the beans is eating some of the spilled beans on my kitchen floor. This thought sends the freak-o-meter into over-drive.

My last move was to climb on top of one of my bar stools so I could try and see the thing that is making the annoying clicks. As I begin to stand on my tip toes to see if that would help my view, all of the sudden a part of what looked like a bean flicks out from behind the bin. I instantly scream, jump down from my perch, and high tail it out of my kitchen. I am beyond sure at this point that what is making that clicking sound is, in fact, a mouse or a rat.

I dial Tyson at work and instantly start the conversation with a shaky voice while telling him that I think there is a mouse in our kitchen. He tries to make me rational by saying that whatever is in there won’t hurt me. I tell him that I am way too freaked out to go in the kitchen and that I cannot handle this situation. He tells me he can’t leave work and I begin to have a semi breakdown. I muster up all the courage I have and go out our sliding glass door to try and see from the outside what is making the noise. People, I didn’t make it three feet. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the thing through a window.

It is almost six o’clock in the evening, so calling my pest guy isn’t going to do anything for me. So Tyson says he’ll call Neil and see if he can come over. We get off the phone and I begin watching the entry to my kitchen just waiting for a big old rat to slide it’s way under the door so it can come and bite me. Neil gets to my house and I begin to think that my troubles could be coming to an end. He pokes around in my kitchen for a while and comes out to declare that there is no mouse in my kitchen. He asks me, “Are you sure you saw a mouse?” I tell him that I didn’t see a mouse per say, but that I heard what I thought was a mouse eating some of those beans on the floor.

And then, I hear the clicks again. I look at Neil and say, “Did ya hear that?” He didn’t and I tell him, “LISTEN.” And then we hear it again and Neil walks toward the bin of beans muttering, “No way….” I leave the kitchen area and wait for the verdict. All of the sudden Neil yells to me, “It isn’t a mouse!” I say, “Then what is it?” He then tells me that the clicker is a BUG. I then say, “Well, if it’s a bug then I still don’t want to go in there…. Can you get rid of it please?” He says, “Just come look at it.” Well, you can imagine that I really, really don’t want to look at this bug, but I go in there anyway. Neil starts telling me that this bug is injured and…. And right in the middle of Neil’s sentence that freaking bug JUMPED. It jumped about a foot in the air (NOT. kidding) and I SCAREEEEEEEAMED, jumped, and ran out of the kitchen.

Neil got rid of the bug and went home. I tried to tell him about a million times while he was walking out the door that I was really sorry that he had to come to my house to kill a bug…. But somehow, I still came off as the big, sorry wimp that I am.

I cannot tell you how embarrassed I am about this.
But. I would have bet anything that the jumping bug was, in fact, a mouse. And even if I had it in me to walk all the way over to the beans to see what I could see, I would have still freaked out MAJORLY over the jumping bug. Jumping bugs absolutely give me the willies.
However, I might not have had Tyson call Neil to come and get it…..
But still.

I could have SWORN it was a mouse.
Seriously.

*Updated at the bottom*

Before I start the real post, let me tell you what Helene JUST said to me.
She was watching Curious George, who she loves. The Curious George show ended and I changed the channel so she could watch something else that she loves. She said, “I wah Kimeeus Gohge.” I said, “It’s over.” And she responded, very LOUDLY, with, “no IIII NOT!”, while shaking her head. This, my webternet friends, is just a small taste of what she’s like lately. (read: a LOT of FUN. Lots of it.)

Alright. Now for this Genius business.
About, I don’t know, FOREVER. ago Kateastrophe hooked my blog up with it’s second EVER award! And I am the biggest jerk of a blogger for ignoring it for so long. Sorry Kate!! See how I link you three times in the first paragraph of the real post? See???

I am SURE that I got this award by posting videos like this:

Well, today is the day that I find out if I’ve won the award for being the best looking on the internet. At the time of publishing this, the results are not yet in. I wanted to thank whoever nominated me and all that voted for me. However, I would like to know WHO did the nominating. If you could reveal yourself, that would be GREAT. I’ve got a button for you to put on your site… So seriously. Let me know who you are. Thanks.

One more thing before I go. I’ve had no takers on buying me those pink bejeweled earbuds. So. What about one of you buying me THIS:

I wear a women’s size LARGE according to them.
Wait wait. A large? Really?
But I work out……

So guess what?
It turns out that I won! Holy Moly, right?!!

Thanks again to all who voted! Thanks to Kailani for hosting the awards. And, to my anonymous nominators, THANKS A BILLION TRILLION MILLION! Please let me know who you are.

And, Tyson… I WON.
So pretty please can I get the shirt?

Guess what???
I just found out that my blog was nominated for an award…
The 2007 Bloggy Hoss election, no less!
I’m nominated in the Best Looking category. (Alright, a.k.a. best design.)
SO. Come on people. It’s been a year and a half since I’ve gotten an award.
Go ahead and go vote.
I really, really, really want this award button for my site.
It may just cure my RSD.
Or validate my existence….
Come on…. go rock the vote.

*****
Now that you’ve voted, you can check out some pics from our fourth of July.
We went to the local mall for the show and to sum it up;
Simon plugged his ears the whole time but really loved the fireworks, Helene was tired from the get-go so she kept saying, “Mommy shtop-ut” the whole time. Yeah, I’m glad to know that she thinks I’m in control of everything. That just means I’ve done my job.