I felt so awful yesterday that I put off writing this post till today. Yesterday, my skin hurt. Every muscle ached to the point of tears. It wasn't a flareup like the one I had when Shawn was here, but it was bad.
How bad WAS it?
It was so bad that I stripped naked and crawled between two furry, soft, fleece blankets.
That's not much of a punchline! You ripped us off!
Yeah, well, whattya want? I'm not a stand-up comedian! I'm just some freakin' housewife who has this stupid disease and nobody around to listen to my lamentations as I play the same six songs over and over and whimper through the pain.
Only part of that is true. I don't play the same six songs. More like twelve.
I also don't whimper. I fucking bitch out loud and angrily. Then I strip naked and curl in a ball under a blanket and wait for it to pass. I took two Vicodin yesterday afternoon. Then I took two at my regular time (about two hours or so later) and then, my muscle relaxers. By bedtime, I was ready to curl up into a ball and play with yarn.
By "play with yarn", I mean that literally, I was giggling at stuff that wasn't funny to other humans. After I took the two Vicodin in the afternoon, I went upstairs for my strip-down-blanket-cocoon. I ended up watching terrible shows on a channel that used to be CourtTV. It was called "Bait Car" and I giggled my way through three episodes before I felt well enough to get up again.
But wait! I hear you saying, You're NAKED!
True... very true. But, I put on a fleece hoodie and a pair of velvet sweat pants- inside-out. That's right, I was rocking inside-out sweats. I managed to survive the rest of the evening till bedtime when I then stripped down again and re-entered that fleece cocoon I'd built myself.
Pain, itching, aching skin... it was not a good day.
By comparison, today is much, much better. So, at least there's that.