“Is it me, or is it hot in here? Oh, it is me… great.” Back in a more masculine life I used to scoff at the fact that my spouse would wrap herself up in Russian sleigh ride style on a warm August evening, shivering and begging for hot chocolate. I would assist by turning the thermostat up two degrees, achieving the effect of giving her an immediate heat stroke. Yes, her comfortable temperature range is a one degree window, and rarely the same degree from day to day. Oh, how little I knew.
Although I have in the past purported medical knowledge on a ‘Trapper John, M.D.’ level, in reality it’s more like when George Costanza pretends to be an architect. Because of that I have no idea why taking a couple tiny, tiny blue pills every day has managed to send my internal thermostat into a catastrophic tailspin. I probably would have known this if I bothered to read the printed out info sheets my therapist gave me, but I’m more of a ‘fly by the seat of my pants’ kind of gal, and don’t remember which purse I left them in anyway. Yes, I’m also losing things much more frequently as well.
I’m not complaining mind you, just observing. I never understood the power of testosterone to create complete immunity to temperature variations. I live in Buffalo and prior to this winter I would routinely venture out without a jacket, or lounge around the house barefoot in shorts and a tee as frigid winds whip through my poorly insulated dwelling. This winter I schlumped around the house in an enormous bathrobe with the heat cranked up to 73. On several occasions I lost coloration and feeling in several fingers just driving home from work. Conversely, at any moment I know I may suddenly feel like a strong candidate for spontaneous human combustion.
I have to wonder if my metabolism morphing into a Katy Perry song is causing or coincidental with the fact that I sometimes get, well, a little cranky. I used to be an emotional vegetable, allowing insults, slights, and a sink full of dirty dishes roll off my back. I know I talked about this before, but only as a cyclical thing. Aside from having things get under my skin just a wee bit easier, they take a lot longer to work their way out as well. I should probably provide an example.
I got ‘defriended’ on Facebook by someone for, as far as I can tell, absolutely no discernable reason. Second time by the way. Now, when I was maintaining my male account, chances are I was defriended dozens of times and never noticed, even when I checked the thing three times a day. This time I noticed immediately. “Hey, where the hell did ‘so-an-so’s’ newsfeed go? What, we are no longer friends? WTF?” Now the old me would have either not noticed, or if so, not cared or found it mildly amusing and immediately forgotten about it. Now I find myself obsessing over something that is relatively meaningless. I mean, it’s Facebook, one of the most irrelevant of interactions I have with people. I only ever see this person about once every two months and spend about ten minutes each time conversing with them. Why do I care?
Honestly, I don’t know and it baffles me. I have definitely become more social (not a big leap – I was a reclusive introvert to begin with), and more socially aware. Human interaction and relationships have gone from “not at all important” to “well, a lot more important”. My theory is that this mental circuitry was always there, but just not getting the right juice to run. Now that I am chemically balanced, my present but disconnected capacities have suddenly become enabled. It’s surprising, yes, but also pretty darn cool, even if it does mean getting occasionally pissy about things I would have once found irrelevant. Starting to feel myself finally is also giving me a huge boost of confidence. I like this!