Thursday, April 12, 2012

No news? Good news? There's news?

Sadly there is nothing new to report. I've had some rough days and I've had some good days. Mostly though, I've been operating at around a five on that ridiculous pain scale. Five is tolerable, I can function without daytime pain meds at a five.

And that's kind of sad. Nobody should have to "function" with a pain level that makes most people to to the ER and re-enact the needle scene from "Pulp Fiction" in an effort to ease their pain. (Yes, I know it wasn't a pain drug, but Uma Thurman with a giant syringe in her chest was the first thing I could think of in a dramatic-needle-jammed-into-a-body scene).

Our mild winter did nothing to help me. Aside from the lack of snow and shoveling, it was quite humid and Humidity and I do not get along. She's cranky, I'm whiny. We're a terrible sitcom couple. Nobody would watch the "Pahz and Humidity Show". That's ridiculous, I don't even go by "Pahz" in real life.

I have spent a lot of time this year sewing. Sewing by hand hurts a lot, so I usually wait till the end of the day when I'm totally FUBAR on my pain meds, but it doesn't always help. Luckily, my parents kept my mom's rarely-used Kenmore sewing machine. Mom got it the year before I was born, so that makes that sewing machine almost 44 years old. The thing is- I don't sew well. Even on the machine. But, the machine is less painful and faster. And technically- that's wrong. I shouldn't be machine-sewing anything for the renaissance faire. But you know what? I'm putting it up there with my asthma inhaler. Yes, I'm a rennie. Yes, I like to look as authentic as I can. But, I'm not going to die of an asthma attack just because my emergency inhaler isn't period-correct. And if my machine-sewing a skirt is wrong, well, then I'm not as hardcore a rennie as I thought.

And you don't even care about that. You're reading about sewing skirts and garb and saying, "Blah, blah, blah, Patty! Get to the boobshelf already!" At this typing, we have thirty-six till the fabulous boobshelf is unleashed at the Janesville Renaissance Faire. Good news is that I'm working for six hours on the first day- which frees up some cash for spending on the second day.

The disabled guy is still gone on his ridiculous trip. And I'm not going to touch that topic with someone else's ten foot pole. Let's just say its been stressful for me and leave it at that.

I'm soldiering on, as usual. I have a doctor appointment in a couple weeks with my GP. My rheumatologist threw me back to the GP because my fibrofuckingmyalgia symptoms seem to be controlled by the Cyclobenzaprine. Not great, but also not terrible. And that's fine... I'd like to be pain-free, but I know that's about as likely to happen as winning the lottery. Although, I would think sleeping on a mattress stuffed with money would be quite comfortable, but who could sleep with all the maniacal giggling that would be going on?

What? You wouldn't giggle maniacally if you'd won the lottery and stuffed a mattress full of money?

Wow, what a weirdo.

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