The disabled guy is still visiting his parents in North Carolina. And while some people would be all: "hells yeah! Alone time!", I've gone past that point. He's been gone over a month and I've had it with all this bullshit. It doesn't seem like much- just me and one adult child. But I also have to take care of all the dogs, plus the cats, and those two stupid rats. I don't get one day as a break- which one wouldn't think would be all that much anyway, I mean, they're just dogs, right? And the cats are fairly self-sustaining in that I don't have to constantly lavish attention on them like I do the dogs. And those goddamn rats. They chewed through three water bottles in five days. I finally popped for an eight-dollar glass bottle. Little bastards. I guess they don't remember how the disabled guy is their human advocate. (and yes, I've asked him to come home, he tells me "not yet").
There are little stressful things that keep happening. And I can handle the stress just fine. I'm a fucking magician when it comes to handling stress. But after the stress has passed and settled, it settles itself in my body and I hurt. Right now, I'm in so much bodily pain that my skin feels like its inflamed. My clothing hurts me. I ache in every muscle you can think of and I feel like those burning, achy muscles are wrapped in swollen, sore skin. Essentially, I feel like a giant bruise. An exhausted, giant bruise.
The adult-aged child who is still home doesn't care about the stress. He doesn't think it's a problem. He doesn't understand why I feel stressed. He doesn't understand how my body can be in pain without having done anything. Of course, to him, standing in the kitchen for a half hour to do dishes doesn't include sitting down for two hours afterward. I've tried to explain it to him, how I have to pace myself and plan out my day based on my expected level of activity. After a particularly annoying day, I told him that I hope his future spouse never has a chronic pain problem, because she'd never get sympathy from him. He wasn't amused. (but you know what? Fuck him and his amusement).
Years ago, before I was diagnosed with fibrofuckingmyalgia, I would have what we all now know as a flareup and I would wonder how people could live this way. My Grandma Viola had severe rheumatoid arthritis. Her hands essentially became misshapen claws, with horrible lumps on her knuckles. She couldn't pick up a glass or hold a pen. I didn't grow up near her, but we'd visit once or twice a year. I have these memories of her, from when I was a child, where she would sit in her wheelchair and cup her hands in one another and cry from the pain. And yet, she soldiered on... in pain and in a perpetual state of near-tears. I don't know how she did it. I'm having one of those days today. As I've been typing this, my right hand and wrist keep burning and my fingers go numb. I've had to stop and shake out my hand.
The housework has suffered the most from this. I haven't vacuumed in far too long. I only do the bare minimum. I do the dishes, because we need dishes. I clean up after the dogs as best I can. My sleep is totally screwed up. I don't even feel like eating, but I do because I'm hungry.
I mentioned the weather... weather changes tend to hurt a lot. And we've had every kind of weather possible in the state of Wisconsin and we had all that within 72 hours of each other. No joke. It was warmish, sort of typical for March. Then the temps dropped and it snowed for a day and a half. Then it warmed up and all the snow melted and it rained. But not just rained, we had a thunderstorm. Then we had high wind advisories and sunlight. Then it got cold again. We essentially had Spring, Winter, Spring, Summer, then Autumn... all within three days.
The next time someone says to me: "If ya don't like the weather in Wisconsin, just wait a few minutes! HAR-HAR-HAR!", I'm gonna punch them in the throat. I think that's a perfectly reasonable response.
Ren faire season isn't getting here quickly enough. We're under sixty days till the Janesville Faire. I have new garb to wear and that makes me happy, and its really comfortable garb (the lovely woman who made it did so by my actual measurements). I can't wait till faire season starts. I've already dressed up twice and taken photos. Why twice? Because the bodice is reversible and it makes two outfits that way.
I'm really tired of this fictional disease. For a made-up disorder that isn't real and just a cop-out for lazy people, it damn sure sucks. I wish this post was funnier, but I can't seem to muster my sense of humor for it. I'll end with a joke... brace yourself, its a damn good one.
Q: Why did the Turtle cross the road?
....
......
........
A: It was the chicken's day off!
And now, a MS Paint drawing of a turtle crossing the road that I literally just did after I typed the "Q" part of this joke. Consider yourself amused. YOU'RE WELCOME!
