Hey, you know what? Shawn is visiting again. How awesome is that? And if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you apparently don't stalk me on Facebook enough. I mentioned him in my previous post where I bitched and moaned.
Today was a lazy day. We watched movies and didn't do much of anything. Around 330 PM, I was so tired and achy, that I decided to go lay down with my feet up (lay down? Lie down? Who cares? I was flat on my back, on my bed). I thought laying (lying?) under my fleece blanket with my feet elevated would help.
I dozed off for about fifteen minutes, which is fine... but I got up and I was barely able to move. No worries, I thought (I do that, I think and speak in Australianisms sometimes)- but yeah, "No worries," I thought, "It'll work itself out a bit when I get to moving."
Except that it didn't. It got worse. I went from "mildly achy" to "absolutely in agony" in less than an hour. I had tears... and of course, the Disabled Guy didn't notice. So, I pointed it out to him. Still didn't know why- he said, "What? Are you sweating?"
"Yes," I replied. "I'm sweating from my eyeballs."
The whole thing freaked Shawn out, just a bit, because he has never witnessed a flareup in person. And of course, it had to be such a tasty morsel to witness- me going from slightly whiny to fighting tears in such a short period of time. I took my Vicodin almost an hour early because I couldn't take it.
I said to Shawn- who was doing whatever he could to help me: "At least I'm just in pain and not itching."
Less than an hour after that, I was itching too. Great. Way to go, Brainiac.
It is now after 9 PM here. I'm fully Viked and fully Cyclobenzaprine'd. And I fucking itch. And I have the goddamn munchies from my pain meds. They don't always give me the munchies, but it happens. My pain level was at maybe a three on that Ridiculous Pain Scale. By the time I'd gotten up from my impromptu nap and sat down on the sofa in the living room, it had shot up to eight. In that hour's time, I was in tears. It was the fastest onset of a flareup I've ever had (that I can remember, anyway).
So, I'm a little tired. A lot uncomfortable. And a bit irritated at it all. Kat came home for the night (she's got something to do in town tomorrow). She did her usual thing- demanding food, as one does upon entering their parents' house; she ate food, complained about our lack of snack foods, and talked about random stuff. No biggie, typical shit. And she asked me where the place was where she was going tomorrow. So I told her which streets to take to get there and she made her teen-ager-annoyed-face at me (she's 22 years old) because she wasn't following along with me. I said, "Fuck it, never mind..." and in the middle of me trying to get up, she got all defensive at me.
I tried to explain: "I'm in the middle of a fucking flareup. I feel like shit. I went from 'fine' to 'fucking shit' in less than an hour. I'm loaded up on pain meds that are barely working."
She replied, "So you have to take it out on me?"
I said, "I'm NOT taking it out on you. I'm irritated. I'm in pain. I'm fucking itching. It has nothing to do with YOU. It has nothing to do with ANYONE except me."
I have no idea if she cared or was even listening by then.
Shawn keeps asking me how I am though. And at least he means it.