"Hmm, I need to blog about this..." ... "Interesting... I should share this on the fibro blog..."

Aaaand, then I forget. I get busy or distracted by something shiny. I intended on keeping track of things through this blog as a way of being able to look back on this or to help others realize they're not alone. That's a huge thing, by the way, not feeling like you're alone. I live in a house with people who do not give a damn how much I hurt from day to day or if my fingers are numb and tingly (they are today, by the way). And now and then, seeing that someone else has this very same problem... it feels good to know. It was a relief, that day, in the VA hospital when my doctor said, "You have all the classic signs..." I couldn't believe it. I kept waiting for a "but..." and she never said it. She just reiterated that I was, indeed, suffering from fibromyalgia.

Today sucks for two reasons. The spouse and the son came home on Wednesday night. And I haven't slept good since. When I sleep, I rarely move from my little bubble of space, even when I'm alone in the bed. It comes from almost thirteen years of sleeping next to a disabled person. (You're thinking to yourself that we're closing in on sixteen years of disability and how is it I've only spent thirteen sleeping next to him. I'll tell you: the first year, he slept on our hide-a-bed because he couldn't get out of our full-wave water bed. The second year, I worked nights and the one or two nights I was home, I ended up sleeping mostly in the La-Z-boy recliner. The third year was the year he decided to leave us. But he came back and here we are). With him in the bed, well, he's a bed hog. And a blanket fiend. He also pushes me in his sleep and snores- no joke- as loud as a lawnmower. His snoring has damaged my hearing (not hyperbole, but actual fact).

The second reason is all my fault. I haven't had the energy to put on shoes for two days in a row. I'm just bloody tired. I'm worn out and I have to keep doing stuff and mustering the energy to put on my shoes isn't a priority. Of course, every time I stand up, it just about kills me. My own damn fault.

Today, my body feels like its been pressed through one of those old-fashioned clothes-wringer thingies you see in movies. I feel like every muscle has been pulled tight, rolled flat, then left to slide back into place under its own tension. Except for the fact it hasn't slid back yet and still feels like its pulled tight. And I slept wrong on my right arm and you tack on that "I slept on it wrong" pain, then you have my day.

While the Disabled Guy was gone (for five long weeks), he texted me almost constantly. He said he'd try to be more caring or more attentive. I mean, after all, I have a real disease, diagnosed by a real doctor. I take medicine for it. Its kind of hard to deny that it exists, right? Well, for you maybe. For me, definitely. For him? Not so much.

It took him all of... well, less than a day to go back to his usual responses. Which are either: Ignore her while she speaks and maybe she'll shut up; or pretend to listen and then say in monotone, "Yeah" or "you'll be okay."

On a lighter note, today is Halloween. Blessed Samhain to you who know what that is.

Because of a book called Drop Dead Gorgeous by Wayne Simmons (set for re-release in early 2011, get a copy!), I decided to "zombie it up" for this year's Halloween. Then I ran the photos through my Photoshop lomography technique. And then I added a layer of red to the eyes and I came up with this:



That's all done with eyeshadow and store-bought fake blood. I used green and blue eyeshadow on my face, black around my eyes, and "black cherry" lipstick. All of my Halloween-themed photos can be seen here on my Flickr.

Thanks for reading.