My Youngest Child is now a High School Graduate

Last year, my son (the middle child) graduated from high school. It was cloudy and at the last minute, they decided to have the ceremony indoors. They crammed about 900 people into the small gym (that would be 900 spectators on top of the 400-ish graduates). No air-conditioning. No ventilation. It was so hot that I quite literally sweated the entire ninety minutes we were there. I also hadn't been diagnosed with fibro yet. That happened two weeks later.

I made my son part of my 365days self-portrait. Day 119 of 365.



While I was in labor with him, I watched "Kids in the Hall" till the nurse wrestled the remote from me and turned off the TV.

Here's the "rejected" self-portrait. I did this while we were standing outside.



Now, it never did rain last year. I know this because when we came outside, my windscreen was still clean. Had it rained, it would have been spotty. We suffered for nothing.

This year, it was cloudy. It rained the night before, in fact. But they said it was going to be held outside. And it was. And it was cloudy. There were moments of the sun attempting to break through the clouds, but it never did get sunny. PLUS, it was cool. Around 60° Fahrenheit. There was a slight breeze off the river (the kids' school is literally on the river's edge). So, everything was aiming toward being a good day for me. I mean, aside from having to sit in one position without luxury of moving around or straightening my legs.

A side note- with an ass as large as mine, one would think that I'd have some cushion for sitting on a metal bleacher. But no. Not true. My ass went between "numb" and "pain".

Back to graduation day.

I woke up at my usual 5 AM and came downstairs. I do what I do every day- grab my bottle of Synthroid (I've been taking varying doses of Syntrhoid since I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism at age 18) and get my one Diet Mountain Dew... except my bottle of pills was gone. It wasn't in its customary spot on the counter next to the CD shelves. The Disabled Guy had been bored on Friday because it was raining and he couldn't work on the deck. So he "cleaned" the kitchen. Well, I checked my plastic container full of pills. (I have other stay-alive pills I take an hour after my thyroid medicine). Not there. Not in the cabinet with his pills. Not in the cabinet with the first aid stuff and OTC medicines. Not on the floor. Not in a drawer. Not here. Not there.

At 505 AM, I marched (yeah, I was pissed) upstairs. I woke him up with a shake and demanded: "Where are my pills? White bottle. Next to the CD shelf. Where are they? I NEED those pills."

He half-mumbled they were there. "No they are not. They aren't there and they're not with my other pills."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Would I be up here if I hadn't checked every-goddamned-where?"

Everyone who knows me knows that I don't walk up those goddamn stairs unless I absolutely have to.

So he got up. I went back down to the kitchen and took everything out of my plastic box. He came in and said, "Aren't those it?" It was the box that my asthma "twisthaler" comes in. I have to keep it because it has my RX number- which I need for calling in refills every 21 days. See, he tried to throw it away and we had a heated "discussion" as to why I can't do what he does with his medicines (he gets 90 day supplies. My asthma stuff is a 30 day supply).

He eventually had to go get the trash from the bin outside. The entire time, I was ranting about how I get up at the same goddamn time every day for a reason and that I take my pills at the same goddamn time every single day for a reason. At 530 AM, he found my pills. In the trash.

Two hours later, my hands and wrists ached. I am merely assuming that the stress increase and "fun" of dealing with that is what caused the aching. And I figured I got off easy. Because I still had to get through the graduation ceremony.

This is a screen-cap of the map of the kids' school. The red X at the bottom (with the green X) is where we started. The red line is the route we walked to get to seats in the bleachers at the football field. (the purple squares are where the graduates and the stage were set up). The green line is the route back I took with Ceej to get back to the truck. Now add three times as many cars. That's why I had to park where I parked. Instead of parking there, people started parking along curbs and other "no parking" zones (because they make allowances for events like that). I figured "Fuck it" and parked in the first available spot, so I wouldn't have to worry about getting stuck trying to pull out from a curb.

The two green Xs in the middle are where we stood to wait on Ceej and then next to the building where I took some photos of her with some friends, respectively.



So yeah... I walked a looong way for the graduation. And I'm so sore today.

I keep trying to come up with a description of how shitty I feel on a day-to-day basis. I've used the "thrown from a horse" feeling, because I can relate to that and so can some others. A lot of people are fond of the "hit by a Mack truck" description, but I've never been hit by a truck, Mack or otherwise. Also popular is the: "You know that muscle-achy feeling you get when you're coming down with the flu? Yeah, that..." description. And that's pretty accurate.

On my good days, the days where I consider it "feeling good", I feel like I'm coming down with the flu. As long as I don't move or breathe too deeply or stand, or walk, I feel okay. But the second I move or breathe or stand... that's when everything hurts. The shower hurts to hit my skin. Clothing hurts against my skin. The wind hurts.

So, now we've clarified that I hurt. I went to the store today and that didn't help.

Enough with the whining... here are some photos.





I did a triptych of three photos for my 365days submission for Ceej's graduation.



And the one photo that I didn't use-



At the high school, this is how far away my older daughter and son were sitting from us (they drove separately and arrived almost late).





Riveting, isn't it?





So my muscles ache. I'm exhausted. I would like to be sitting here wearing nothing but a velvet sweatsuit three sizes too big and inside out, but instead, I'm wearing jeans, T-shirt, and my red Docs. Because I had to go to the store. Every move I make that requires more than my hands typing, I ache. Screamingly so. If I had anything else to do today, I'd probably drop to the floor and play dead to get out of it.

By the way, I still hate those drug ads. The one with the woman who tells us she learned that nerves attached to her muscles cause her pain.