I survived two days at a ren faire only to have my ass kicked by the weather

The Janesville Renaissance Faire was fantastic. It was good fun and seeing all our friends (well, our local friends) again was great. On Saturday, I had to work from Noon till 6 PM- which works out, because we go back on Sunday and I spend all the money I made back at the faire. The people who read this are also on my Facebook page and already know the news.

On Saturday morning, I threw my gear at the booth where I do readings and went in search of friends. I found them easily, since we're friends with a lot of cast members at Bristol. And I love the fact that we can have a conversation and they never break character. While I was talking to a couple of them (who happen to be husband and wife- in real life, not in character), my daughters and one daughter's boyfriend showed up. They were recording me... long story short (and the videos are on Facebook), they gave me my Mother's Day present (a week late, but that's awesome). They wanted to do it in public and the faire was great because we were among friends.

What was my present?

If you don't already know- brace yourself... my kids pooled their money and got me a Nikon D5100 DSLR camera. Not just the camera and the usual swag- but also a zoom lens and a macro lens. So I've gone a little crazy with the photo-taking this week. I have the most awesome kids in the world.

And, if you want to see it- here are most of the photos from
~the Janesville Ren Faire~. Almost all the photos taken on Sunday were taken with the Nikon. And, here's a link to a set where I put all my Nikon photos, except the ren faire ones.

~Random Nikon D5100 photos~

Now, moving on...

I ended up with bruises on the arches of my feet, from all the standing and walking I did on Sunday. Monday, I was fine, just a wee bit tired. Tuesday, the exhaustion hit me. But, still not much pain. It seemed that I survived the first renaissance faire of the season mostly unscathed by fibro pain. Huzzah.

I've had a general all-over aching for over a week though. I'd mark it as a level five, sometimes an eight, but mostly very tolerable. And late Wednesday afternoon, it got worse. And Thursday was dreadful. I thought that the ren faire took its sweet-ass time getting to me, but it turned out that the weather was changing. We went from mostly sunny, relatively dry weather to impending storms.

That dreadful aching escalated into a full-blown flareup. And while I have learned I can deal with the pain, the total exhaustion is another matter. This fibro thing, when it wants to, can beat me down and kick my ass like Dalton cleaning up a small-town dive bar. But only if Dalton were a whiny jerk who beats people half to death with a wet swimming pool noodle. One would think that if a beating is so pathetic as to be compared to a swimming pool noodle that it isn't that bad. Did you see where I referenced Dalton? Its a savage beating. Its like I blew up the barn he lived in and then challenged him to a fight to the death in front of a lake where we both have to had to end up shirtless and sweaty...

Wait a minute, I seem to have lost my train of thought. It had something to do with shirtless and sweaty men, right? Strange... this is my fibro blog.

Oh, right... pain. Always with the pain. Yesterday (that would be Friday, May 25th for those of you who aren't reading this in a reasonable time frame) was particularly rough. Along with the all-over pain, which had increased in intensity, and the exhaustion, which was so delightfully nagging, my attitude took a plummet. I hate it when that happens. I don't like feeling down. Of course, I don't stay down for long. But the fact I fell into that funk is bad enough.

Saturday morning (today, that is), I woke to a wonderful thunderstorm that is actually still going on as I type this. So the pain I'm in is from the weather. I've got shooting pains down my arms, in the muscles and it feels like I'm developing tendinitis in my other shoulder. And my skin feels like its on fire- not just itchy with the thousands of tiny, hairy-legged spiders, but also hot.

What I want to know is, if I feel like I'm about to burst into flames, why don't I have any superpowers? What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right? I get told that a lot. So, with everything that hasn't killed me yet, I should be a goddamn superhero. Where's my skintight body suit? What's my emblem going to be? Where's my cape?

No, wait... scratch the cape. No capes. They never work out.

And I leave you with this... a photo taken of me on Sunday, at the Faire, by my lovely and talented friend- The Duchess. I'm cheesing it up with my cheesiest smile. My camera is in the basket on my arm. And the wind made my hat SO POOFY.

When You Fall asleep to "Futurama", weirdness ensues... [flareup whining inside]

Today is Sunday, May 6th. That's in case you live in the future or if you're reading this on some other day than the day I posted it.

I woke up today feeling a little sore, kinda stiff, but no biggie, I wake up every goddamn morning like that now. The Disabled Guy got home on Friday evening, so that's been a barrel of laughs. Saturday, we had to go to Ceej's dorm and move 90% of her crap home. She's got two finals and then she's staying at her sister's for a bit. We took her car out to her so she'll just drive herself home.

I've been under some stress lately that I won't bore you with, but as you know, stress can exacerbate the pain. I had to run to the store and shortly after I got home, I started to hurt. Slowly, the pain became more intense. My skin felt like it was on fire. My clothing hurt my skin and even having one of the dogs brush by my leg caused me to wince. As the pain increased, I seemed to lose my ability to stand up straight. I started to curl into a question mark. Let me tell you, that's not a good look for anyone- except question marks. And maybe The Riddler.

Since NASCAR was on, I decided to go upstairs and get under my soft fleece blankets. As mentioned before, the fleece blankets I have are super-soft. One blanket feels good, the second blanket's weight just feels nice against the softness. Oh, also, I'm naked. Sorry for that mental image.

I wasn't tired, really, so I had "Futurama" on Comedy Central. As Stephen Colbert said: "Comedy Central, where you're never more than 30 minutes from an episode of 'Futurama'." (or something similar, frankly I'm not going to look it up).

As if by psychic cue, three of my friends started texting me. It was like they knew I felt terrible and only their special brand of crazy was going to make me feel better. (one wasn't actually texting me- but I get text alerts when I get a Facebook message). It was nice. To you guys, thanks.

After the marathon texting and a couple episodes of "Futurama", I started to doze off. I was in pain. Excruciating pain. I couldn't shift my body around without wincing. So, I was sprawled out, taking up most of the bed, not moving. This was a huge pain- I had tears more than once today. This is how bad it was- I didn't take Vicodin before I went upstairs and I should have. But, I hurt so much I didn't want to go back downstairs to get some Vicodin.

I can hear you saying: "But, the Disabled Guy is home, why didn't you have him bring it upstairs with a bottle of water?"

Weren't you listening? NASCAR was on.

As I dozed off, I was half in and out of semi-animated dreams that involved characters from "Futurama". I wish I could remember the details because it was very surreal. I also had a weird dream about someone I've never met in person. I don't even know what it was about, but I think we may have been declaring a thumb war.

Somewhere in there, I had to change the channel because "Futurama" ended and Jeff Dunham's canceled show came on. I'm sorry, if you like him, that's cool and all, but he stopped being funny to me sometime around the year he started using the Achmed-the-Dead-Terrorist character. I switched it to one of the X-Men sequels on FX. Then my dreams were a weird mix of Leela and Wolverine discussing my mutant abilities.

That's what it is... I'm a mutant. This fibrofuckingmyalgia is part of my mutant abilities. I can withstand pain that would drop a normal person in their tracks.

Lamest mutant ability ever.

Wait, what? I thought this was a fibrofuckingmyalgia blog

It is, it is. Don't get your panties in a twist... unless you're into that kind of thing. Who am I to judge? But since this is my fibrofuckingmyalgia blog, today we're going to talk about some other pain issues.

Twenty years ago, give or take a few months, I gave birth to my second child. He was born at 11 pounds even, 22 1/2 inches tall. The doctor jokingly said, while I was pregnant, if he were bigger than my first (9 pounds 4 ounces), he'd wheel me to my room after the birth. Well, he had no idea.

Now aside from bragging about the fact that I pushed an 11 pound bowling ball with a head full of dark hair out of my body without the benefit of drugs, I'm telling you this because it was the beginning of my foot problems. The entire time I was pregnant with my monster baby (as we called him because of his size), my feet were hot. And I mean really hot. I would walk outside in the snow (I was staying with my parents because the Army in its infinite wisdom sent the husband off to school for the last three months of my pregnancy. I'd like to have been in on that meeting: "Hey, guys, we got back from the War in May... let's send every husband away from November through February. I hear [stupid Army nickname they gave him]'s wife is due at the first part of February. Let's give him the duty station he wanted and make his report date also his wife's due date. THEY WILL LAUGH ABOUT THIS!!" Fuck you, whoever you were). Wait, I went off a little bit there... Where was I? Oh, the snow... yes, I could walk outside, barefoot, in the snow and it didn't hurt me. I melted the snow wherever my feet were- and several inches around my foot. It looked like Bigfoot was living there and wearing slippers to walk around in the snow.

Now, all this time that I was barefoot and pregnant (see what I did there!?) my arches started falling. The pain got so bad that I went to the doctor a couple months after the birth. What? I was busy! I had a newborn baby and we were in the process of moving to a new place. Anyway, I was diagnosed with plantar faciitis and "falling arches". My arches have been falling for the last twenty years. That's right, my son is twenty years old. I know, you're thinking, "You don't look old enough to have a twenty year old child!" You may have even blurted it out loud. I'm about to shock you, Edna. I have a child who will be twenty-three in August. "What!?" you exclaim, out loud and a little embarrassed because you chose to read this blog during a conference call at work. "You're lying! Or you were kind of a whore when you were fifteen because, goddammit, you can't possibly have children that old!"... and I tell you that its because I dye my hair. And you say, "No way! That isn't it! Hair dye doesn't do THAT!" and you point to my profile photo. I have to tell you to calm down, everyone is looking at you because now that conference call is a staff meeting. Seriously, I do. I had my kids when I was young and had the energy to keep up with them...

Where was I? Oh, the plantar faciitis... just Google it. You'll see what it is... over the twenty years, I was diagnosed with the plantar faciitis and Achilles tendinitis. For most people, tendinitis comes and goes. Not for me. My feet have been in near-constant pain for the last twenty years. Let's throw some bone spurs into the mix for fun. Every step I take, every move I make... fuck you, I'm not watching you (she jokes, dating herself with the music reference)... but every step hurts. Standing hurts. The pain in my feet, which may or may not be the tendinitis and bone spurs, is constant. It varies in degree of intensity, but it is always there.

On a good day, they just ache and are sore. I wear Dr Martens boots because they last over a year and are very comfortable. And also, sometimes I like to pretend I'm tall. The black hiking boots I usually wear give me an inch and a half in height. ("Wow! You're an Amazon and I don't mean the website that sells all the shit in the world, I mean the really tall lady warriors." Well, thank you. Obviously you don't realize that I'm five feet and four and a half inches tall. With my Docs, I'm an even five feet, six inches).

On a bad day, I have a jolting shock of pain that shoots through my heel bone into my ankle every time my foot hits the floor. On a bad day, I feel like someone is shoving a red hot railroad spike through my foot, between the bones. And for fun, that bastard taps at it with a hammer every so often. On a bad day, with the jolting heel pain and the red hot railroad spike, it feels like the sadistic bastard with that spike is twisting it.

And that pain can come and go. I can be fine, just toodling along at a good pace through the grocery store, lookin' fly and hip (because isn't that what we all want- to be hip and with-it in the eyes of strangers) and as I step, something inside my foot decides to flip the switch. BAM! Railroad spike grinding in between the bones in my foot. Or a bone spur awakens with a cranky shriek. I have bone spurs in my heels and in the ball of my foot. More often than not, my foot pain is at an eight on the stupid pain scale. A good day- that's a five on that scale. And yes, before you ask, my feet have been at a ten before and yes, it did hurt bad enough to induce tears.

I replace the insoles in my shoes monthly. I also have plastic-ish inserts the doctor gave me shortly before my knee replacement surgery (so, over three years ago). He laughed about the store-bought Doctor Scholl's that I was buying. I've been gellin' and of all those products, I prefer the memory foam type over the gel ones. The gel ones start out feeling good, but twenty minutes into their day, the railroad spikes have been released and are assaulting my feet. The memory foam insoles cushion my feet and help keep that jolting shock of pain out of my heel.

Right now, since I'm typing this an hour after I woke up, my feet aren't screaming in agony. They're just tired-feeling and achy. You're thinking: "Wow, how do you stand and walk for hours and hours at the renaissance faire?" And if you weren't thinking that, you're rolling your eyes now. I wear Doc Martens to the faire, with my doctor-prescribed insoles. And it fucking hurts. But if you saw my photos from the last two weekends at the faire, you'd realize that the pain is worth it. And if you don't get that, then you're not artistic. Artists- of which I am- will do anything for their art. And for mine, I stand for hours. And I hurt for days after, but I don't care. It gives me photos like this...

So, even on "good" fibro days when I'm not having a painful, itchy flareup, I'm still in some kind of pain. And what sucks most of all- I don't like having my feet touched because of the pain. A foot massage would probably kill me. And because I love my boots, here are some photos of my Docs.

The red 1460s I rarely wear. They have no padding in them, just straight leather against my sore feet.



The black hiking boots that I usually wear. These never need breaking-in. They are straight up comfortable from the start. I actually don't even have these anymore. I need a new pair, but at the moment, I can't afford them. (I spent my few extra bucks on ren faire stuff for myself for Mother's Day).








My shiny red Docs. I love these even though I can't get them shiny anymore. I wore them to Bristol a few times and the dust just destroyed them. I still wear them even though the hook-bracket thingies on the ankle part are falling out.






I snagged this pair of distressed brown Docs, on sale for $35 down from $80.



And my ren faire Docs- Shoreditch Ninjas. When I got these, they only had them in black leather. The "cherry red" looks awesome- sorta rough, distressed dark red. I wish I had those. And now they have many color choices, all in canvas. Leather is better, so I'm glad I have the leather ones, but I wish I had them in cherry red. The only time I wear these is at the faire.

So much achy whining- today was a daytime Vicodin Day

I joined a group on Flickr called "We're Here!". Members choose a day of the month and they set a theme. Then everyone in the group does a photo in relation to that theme and posts it in the "We're Here!" group and a group related to the theme that the theme-chooser found or is already a part of- it isn't as complicated as I'm making it sound. Its a good idea, because I'm in my third year of doing the 365 self-portraits. I haven't missed a day yet. And having someone else decide my theme for me takes some of the pressure off. Not that I was ever under pressure, of course.

I have a couple Flickr friends that are in the group and through the urging of one of them, I joined the group. I didn't think I'd participate all that much, but so far I have till today (today's theme is "facedown for my birthday" for a member's birthday. I can't do it- its called "planking"). Why am I telling you all this? Because the "Water, Water Everywhere" theme triggered a flareup. I was going to try and get a shot of me dumping water over my head, but it didn't go as well as I'd planned. I filled a gallon jug with water and went outside. I held my camera at arm's length and went to lift the jug. And I couldn't. The gallon of water was too heavy for me to lift easily.

So I had to dump half of it out before I could attempt to dump it on my head. I didn't get the shot I wanted. What I did get was absolutely drenched. Soaking wet. And that's where the problems started. No, no, the water didn't hurt me- nothing as silly as that. But, it was chilly outside because we've had a very weird Spring so far. And with the chill in the air and the wind blowing (we've gone from having a heat index to a wind chill to a heat index again), the cold settled into my muscles. I took a few photos while outside, even tried dumping a bottle of water on my head (shaking it out over my head). It was cloudy, so my camera wasn't firing as quickly as I'd hoped. The photos look a lot like this one:




My end result turned out to be a macro of a large droplet of water falling off the end of a soaking wet strand of hair. My face was out of focus in the background, but my eye is in focus, and upside-down, in the droplet.




As artistically rewarding as the photo turned out, I was- within an hour- fully into an all-over body aching flareup. I wanted to smack myself in the head for doing it to myself, but it hurt to lift my arm. I've had a lingering aching since the day I took those photos. The mornings are terrible for me, so much so that I keep sleeping in. Of course, it doesn't help that I go to bed and then lay awake for an hour before finally dropping off. Today dawned as an itchy and sore skin day and by 10 AM, I took two Vicodin. And you all know how much I hate taking pain meds in the daytime. I've been under some extra stress in the last couple weeks too. I'm so over the stress now. Really, I am. There's no cure for the stress right now, but I'm so looking forward to the ren faire. I've talked up the faire to so many people- both online and in real life- that I think I should get a commission on the tickets sold.

Janesville Renaissance Faire is March 19th and 20th. Bristol's 25th season starts July 7th and runs through Labor Day (Labor Day is their closing day). You should come out. You'd enjoy it. At Bristol, if you want to find me, you know where I'll be.

Oh, you don't? Well, click here for a hint...

Hur-hur-hur... she said "stiff"...

I'm very lucky.

Believe it or not.

I'm lucky that I don't suffer from depression related to my fibro. I don't actually suffer from depression at all. And quite obviously, I use humor to cope with a lot of things. That may be why a lot of the drugs that work for other people don't work for me- because sometimes they prescribe mild anti-depressants for fibro pain.

And, with my experience in "Let's use drugs on people who don't have the problem the drug treats", I'm glad that all I can say happened was some extra edema.  (for those who don't know, my "let's use drugs..." experience is from the Disabled Guy. His stroke was a result of a blood clotting disorder he acquired during his time in the Army- specifically his time during Operation Desert Storm wherein he took a pill every single day that was never approved for use on healthy people. It was called the "PB pill" and at the moment, I can't think of the name of the disorder it treated. But that, combined with several other drug/chemical things was a cocktail of "Fuck you, Soldier" for a lot of troops over there).

So, at least my brain isn't screwing with me. Sure, I do get sad. I get sad when I think about how my mom is gone- but I try not to think of her that way. I try to remember the good stuff because she'd be a-mockin' me if she knew I was wallowing in the other. That sounds mean, but you'd have to know us.

Right now, I'm focusing on being stiff- hence the title. I'm not really focusing on it, but its something I've been paying attention to lately. As long as I'm sitting in my computer chair, it isn't much of an issue. But if I sit in a soft and comfy chair or on the sofa for an extended period- that is to say, more than ten minutes- I can barely move when I go to get up. Not only do all my muscles just tighten up, gravity increases and forces me to fight to regain vertical positioning. (oh hey, I said "positioning" too; of course you knew that, Gutter brain).

Normally, I only bitch when I have a flareup. Because flareups suck and can last for days. But I'm having this muscle stiffness (hur-hur) even when I'm not having a flareup. I don't know why sitting upright in my computer chair is so different than sitting upright in a regular chair, but it is. I do have some stiff muscles in my computer chair, but I also have the arms of the chair for support when I go to stand up.

I've tried things, like before I go to get up, flexing my muscles a little at a time, to sort of trick myself into believing I wasn't stiff (hur!). It is at its worst in the morning. That's right, I have morning stiffness. This morning (that would be Monday, April 23 to all you slackers who aren't reading this the very moment I post it), I woke up and then just laid there for ten minutes. I started at my feet and worked my way up to my neck. And it didn't really help. And gravity was such a bitch, too.

The thing I miss so far about what fibrofuckingmyalgia has taken from me is my usual morning self. I used to be the morning person. My feet hit the floor and I was ON! It didn't matter what time of the day it was that I awoke. Even when I worked nights, I was still cheerful in the afternoon when I woke up. Now I'm one of those eye-rolling, growling, get-out-of-the-way-my-caffeine-is-in-there-I-will-kill-you people.

But, this week hasn't been all bad. And if you're on my Facebook, you know why.

What is it?

HAT! Of course!

I got my ren faire hat. This was a Mother's Day gift to myself. Custom made to my giant head measurements. Part of the "giant head" thing is because of all this hair. Here is the shop where I ordered it: Pixie Stixx on Etsy But I digress and I have photos.

A hat of this awesomeness can only be worn at a jaunty and saucy angle.




I got two hat pins- a yellow and black one for Sir Maxmillian.- no more Sad Sir Maxx during the parade.



And a red and black one for Sir Mauldron!



I asked on my Facebook status if wearing both feathers together would be overkill... ostentatious... obnoxious. Turns out, it is none of those things. No, no... two feathers in a hat like this- IS FABULOUS!

I'm ashamed of this...

I try to be all empowering about things. "Fuck yeah! I got fibrofuckingmyalgia!" because I'm relieved that after five long years of suffering through this bullshit, I got a diagnosis. We're closing in on Year Two of "Official Diagnosis Day" and I'm just going to admit it.

I'm embarrassed to say to people that I have this disease. I always feel like I have to say something to explain it or to justify that this disease, disorder, syndrome, whatever the hell they're calling it now- that it is indeed very real. I started having symptoms in my mid-30s and by my late-30s, the signs were undeniable to warrant that diagnosis.

But in that time, I'd gone through so much testing. I'd been told so many times that it isn't this and it isn't that. And I had that one terrible doctor who told me outright: "It isn't fibro, just forget about that..." So I did.

That day- when my GP said she'd refer me to a rheumatologist- I was so happy. I couldn't believe how easy it was- but wait. It wasn't easy. For two years leading up to that day, I kept track of symptoms. I made notes, I had those notes in literal scraps of paper, some in texts I sent to my email, some in Word files. I'd have a Post-it note with: "pain in right hip- 9" with the date. I arranged them all by date, printed them up. I searched online for symptoms and possible symptoms. I was thorough because I wanted to make sure that this doctor- who was new to me that day- understood that I wasn't making this up. I had a list of those symptoms, with the website urls on the page, and I wrote down the frequency/intensity of which I had that particular symptom.

She looked at my list, my three or four pages of information, and said she'd refer me to the rheumatology clinic. She asked if she could keep the printed pages for my records...  And that was that.

And here we are, two years later. And I still feel shame about stating: "I have a very real, debilitating disease" because I feel that people are still judging me. I blame that doctor I had- the bad one who said I didn't have it or rheumatoid arthritis (in case you didn't read that blog, he said he tested me for it, but he was telling me the results to a three-year-old blood test). I feel that people don't understand how I can feel good one day and then the next day I can barely move. How cold weather hurts AND hot weather hurts (it happens to be the humidity or a drastic weather change that bothers me).  How do I go all day long at the ren faire only to fold in half and not be able to sit comfortably two days later?

Well, at the ren faire, for one- I sit down a lot. A LOT. The clothing I wear- while it seems to be binding, isn't. I'm wearing skirts, which leaves the lower two-thirds of my body completely free of twisting, painful fabric. And the part that is tight, is around my upper torso- which rarely bothers me in the first place. Also, being there with my friends and other like-minded people, it feels good. I'd feel the same way if I were anywhere with a group of good friends. I might feel terrible, physically, but being with people who genuinely like and care about you makes you forget the pain. I also have Vicodin in my belt pouch, so if it gets too intense, I will take pain medicine.

This disease is fickle. This disease is unpredictable.  I don't like to be the one to complain all the time, which is why I try to keep my complaints confined to this blog. I have a few friends who genuinely care and when they ask me how I'm doing, I do tell them. But for the most part, I just say "I'm fine" or "I'm alive" and move on. Because I feel that nobody really wants to know how I really feel.

My favorite Aussie posted a link to an article that had some statistics on how fibro sufferers feel that they are perceived by other people. Even though the results show that: "66% of the people with fibromyalgia believed society views them as complainers, yet only 9% of the GP view them that way", I still feel like people don't believe me. Or worse, that I'm lazy. I know a few people in my family see it as "being lazy". That might explain why I feel that way about the general public.

I have fibrofuckingmyalgia. Having the official diagnosis is great. Having the actual disease is not. I don't wish this hell on anyone. And I hope that I'm handling my pain in an outward sense with the same strength and grace my grandma did. I still don't know how she went on every day for as long as she did.

If you know me, I try to keep things light and I use humor to cope. I prefer to do that, because if I let this get me down, I'd never get up again. So, a piece of rope walks into a bar and orders a drink. The bartender sees the rope at the bar and says: "Hey, we don't serve your kind here! Get out!" The rope goes outside and  starts twisting himself around, just twisting and turning himself over... when he's done, he musses his top a bit and walks back into the bar and orders a drink. The bartender eyes the piece of twisted rope and asks: "Hey, aren't you that same piece of rope that was in here earlier?"

The rope exclaims: "No, I'm a frayed knot!"

One of two things happened just now. You've either got an earworm of that Chumbawamba song ("when I get knocked down, I get back up again!") or you've just unfollowed this blog.

YOU'RE WELCOME!

Gravity is a harsh mistress- The Tick

The Tick- the live action version- was a fantastic show. I have it, in its entirety, on DVD. You should get it and watch it. Its priceless.

The last few days, something has finally occurred to me. And I've actually posted about this before... apparently I forgot that this is just a fact of life now.  Gravity fucking sucks. I don't know who had that great idea, but it fucking sucks. Let me explain...

The other day, I was exhausted in the middle of the afternoon. It happens. I don't like to take a late-day nap but sometimes, the body demands it. So, I went to my room, stripped off my jeans and crawled into bed. I crashed for an hour and ten minutes (I set an alarm). Then I fell back to sleep for another ten minutes. When I finally decided to get up, I felt as if I was being pulled down. All my muscles ached as if I'd been stretched, then released. I could barely stand up. I pulled on my too-big yoga pants and shuffled downstairs.

I spent the rest of the night, shuffling around like a little old man, and lamenting the kids these days. The next morning wasn't much better.

Today, I started to get tired in the middle of the day again. I had two choices- go do the dishes or go watch the shows I've had on the DVR for the last few weeks. You see, I'm a bit of a jousting nut. I know you probably don't believe me, but its true. I like jousting. There have been two TV shows in recent months. One- "Knights of Mayhem"- it was terrible. I called it "Jersey Faire". I couldn't get past three episodes. So much poorly edited, badly scripted "reality". The other one is "Full Metal Jousting". To be honest, I don't give a flying fuck who wins the show. I don't care. I just like watching the horses and the joust itself (and I swear, if I have to hear someone compliment a 12-year veteran of theatrical jousting on his lance control, I might have to punch a baby. He's good at lance control because he's been, you know, controlling lances for twelve goddamn years).

But I digress...

So, today, I chose to kill a few brain cells and see what was going on with the divas of the jousting world. I sat on the sofa, I fast-forwarded through the commercials and most of the talking (like I said, I like the actual jousting parts)... so I was sitting still for a little over an hour. I watched two episodes of the four I had on the DVR (so I'm still not caught up, but I don't care). When it came time for me to get up, I could barely lift myself up. All my muscles were stretched- or seemingly stretched.

Gravity fucking hurt. I could barely walk, much less walk up the stairs- which is where I needed to be. I dragged my feet, almost literally. I had trouble taking a regular step. I don't know how else to describe it other than to say I was being pulled to the floor by a very tenacious dwarf.

I'm still heavy feeling. My muscles are achy and they feel like they're burning. Oh, that's a familiar discussion, I know I've bitched about that before. It hurts to turn my head from side to side. But not like I have a crick in my neck, more like my shoulder and neck muscles lost a tug-of-war battle with a tenacious dwarf. A really tenacious dwarf who knows all my stress points and hits every one of them as he drags me to the floor. "You're a lousy housewife! You're husband abandoned you! Those boots you're wearing look like combat boots! Your kids' mother wears combat boots!"

The good news is that while I was still not feeling terrible- because at this point, I can't call it "feeling good"- I made chili in the crock pot, so dinner is taken care of tonight. The sink is full of dishes though. I wonder how hard it would be to train the dogs to do the dishes. And I mean do them properly, not just put them on the floor and let them lick them clean...

Wait, that does seem a little more convenient.

Oh stop groaning, I'm not going to do that.

Again.