"We're Going Wabbit Hunting"

In the habitual close up shop, bedtime routine, I went to feed the dogs and let them in for the night. As we work on the basement, I've been feeding them on the back deck, instead of downstairs. Tonight was no different. After I doled their food out, and Nivia hurriedly scarfed down her bit, she wandered out to the grass. Jax finished his food, and I went to let them in. Jax rushed inside, the wimp he is, but Nivia wouldn't budge from the grass. I yelled for her to hurry up, and that's when I noticed a lump. Huh? I went out to investigate and found what I thought was a duck. I came back in and told Bryan what I'd found. He got dressed again, put shoes on and found gloves to only come back to the door needing a shovel and flashlight. This was no duck. It was a pheasant. Somehow, our baby girl caught a vicious pheasant, killed it, and with Jax's help ate the guts, breast and head (SICK!!). Nivia was extremely proud of herself; she was preening downstairs. You could see in her eyes how badly she wanted acceptance from us of her achievement. Unfortunately for them, the basement was cleared up and a small space was fenced up for them to sleep in. No shacking up in the master bedroom tonight with bird germs microscopically lurking on their fur. Hopefully they'll only suffer from some upset tummies from their big feast.

Stressed

Over the past six months, life has become stressful in every corner for me. It first started with Bryan being gone (as if you couldn't tell from all my bloviating). Then came the expected, but unwanted load of my coworker moving on to bigger and better things. This one unfortunately came with all the works. I now had all of my job, his job, and what my boss needed done too. And it all came at the busiest time of year for us, with no extra help from others. It's been three months now, and the pace hasn't slowed at all. Plus the problem of being asked to do three times the job with no perks. The new year came, and Bryan came home, but that particular stress was replaced with now finishing the home we've made out of our 1949 house. There's the unexpected horrors found under sheet rock (like plumbing pipes to nowhere, the occasional electrical box stuffed to the brim with live wires, and a few mouse turds), then the horrors turning into emergency fixes like the regulation valve for the water last night, which brings the costs to new all-time highs. Here is where I stress most: money. I always worry about what's in the bank, and if we really have the cash there, or did I imagine it? Then I don't want any debt, and that creates problems, as there's not enough truly saved to finish the house, and as I want to move soon, push will come to shove on that one. This brings up the next load, moving. I can't wait to start this adventure, but besides selling our home, there's the many cars we've collected that have to find a way with us. Then there's our dogs. How do you safely move them without hurting their health, or putting too much stress on Jax who's now an old man? And to top this all off? Health. Over the past year, each time I've had my blood pressure taken, the nurse has asked me if I'm usually that high. I say no, as I've always been told I've got perfect blood pressure. But this past month, I said maybe. And the doctor totally ignored the numbers, as they thought I was excited I may be pregnant. And this depressed me, as if they had even looked at my chart, they'd see I was prescibed for continuous birth control to keep my endometriosis pain in check and was there to get a new prescription for the next year, not a pregnancy test.
My research found that I might have prehypertension, which means you'll most likely end up with high blood pressure. As I don't drink enough fluids, I've been hell-bent on changing that. Then last Friday, I came down with strep and had to go to Instacare. Once again, I was stressed, as I worried about how I was going to get better in 2 days to be back at work on Monday to continue working on books. The nurse who took my BP asked if I was usually high. I said I was starting to think so, and that's when Bryan said I was 152 over 91! Now I'll have to see a different doctor (as the other one's an idiot in my mind) and find out what else I have wrong, like high cholesterol, or foot and mouth disease, or my nose is falling off (although there's one bit of my nose I wouldn't mind, the weird bump that I got from the Brits). All of this has mixed together to where I can feel my heart expanding, my eyes bulging, all the nerves going weirdly numb and my blood's pumping beats would put a bass drum to shame.
All day I've been trying to think of something (or way) that I can help relieve my stress besides all the water, but I keep drawing a blank. I need something small and quick, so when moments like this morning happen again I can breathe deep and calm myself to keep my heart from exploding. However, every time I do this, I start again the cycle of this to that to that to this, and I end up back where I was. I don't know how well I'll be able to cure this obsessive-compulsive problem, as I always feel the impassioned need to be in control of everything.
Turning 30 sucks.