Questions and Answers, translated

Over on my Facebook, I don't want to be "that guy". I don't want all of my status updates and posts to be all whiny and seemingly attention-seeking. I mean, in general status updates ARE attention-seeking, because c'mon, do you really care that I can hear my clothes dryer while wearing my hearing aid? But I don't want people to give me head-pats and imaginary hugs for having this stupid disease. I don't mind when I get actual hugs (even if I'm having a flareup and it hurts, because that happens sometimes) and I hate to put on a smile and get medical advice from people because their mother's sister's aunt-in-law tried something and it worked for them. (c'mon, everyone with a chronic anything has heard THAT story before).

But in real life... there are times in my life when I have to leave the house that don't actually involve putting on awesome clothes and hanging out with several hundred people dressed in similar (and better) awesome clothing. And, sometimes, there are people out there who ask seemingly benign questions. And I've mentioned this before- but I'm too lazy to look up my own blog link, so I'm probably going to repeat myself a bit. But these people, they generally don't really want to know the real answer to the questions they ask, because they work in the industry that requires them to ask the questions or at least be polite (which sucks for them, because not everyone is like me or my kids and those jerks tend to take out frustrations on those people despite them having no control over what's happening).

Let me get back to the questions. The most loaded question I get these days is: "How are you?" And it comes in a few varieties- "How are you?", "How is everything", "How's things?", "Everything good?"

Of course, I answer these questions with: "Fine" or "Good", even the slightly truthful: "Okay" but things aren't okay. On any given day, I could answer with: "Well, I'm still feeling sad that my dad died. And I also feel guilty, because my mom died two years ago and I don't remember it being this hard on me. And I know that's because I still had Dad around, but the guilt is still there. I just really miss my parents."

Today's answer would have been: "Well, my skin is aching like a giant scraped knee and I'm feeling slightly itchy, so you can imagine how thrilled I am to be wearing clothes right now" but I didn't think that was the appropriate thing to say to the cashier at the grocery store.

"I have a red-hot railroad spike being hammered into my heel with every step I take."

"I considered going to the housewares aisle and using that ergonomic handled vegetable peeler to peel off the itchy layers of my skin."

"My muscles hurt so much right now that I feel like I'm on fire. On fire and recently hit by a truck. Probably a truck full of broken glass and gasoline, but otherwise I'm fine."

"The pain in the bottom of my foot feels like my tendons are being pulled so tight that they're shredding apart..." (alternate answer- "...my tendons feel like they're being sawed on with jagged glass.")

"My legs are swollen. These are boot-cut jeans and I can't feel where the fabric ends and my leg begins."

"I really wanted to take a nap in the bin full of pillows over there."

Well, that last one could be said by anyone, I'm sure.

There are only a few people in my life that ask me how I'm doing and I'm sure they want to really know. A couple of them carry swords, so if I'm not near a housewares aisle, I could still get my skin flayed if I were having that type of flareup near them. We could do a demonstration for the patrons. Educational! But for the most part, nobody wants to hear the real answers. And I can't say I blame them. I don't want to tell those real answers to most people.

Be warned- good people of Earth- if you ask me how I'm doing and I give you the bland "Fine" answer and you ask how I'm REALLY doing because you really want the honest answer- I might start crying. If you hug me, I can't guarantee that I'm going to let go. Things are gonna get awkward, people. Very awkward. But don't worry, no matter how awkward things get, rest assured that I leave my house fully clothed no matter how much my skin hurts. Because that's a level of awkward that even I can't deal with.

I leave you now with a mobile phone photo of how I sit while watching TV.

The Exhaustion. It's so tiring.

This is gonna be a short blog post. Stop cheering, I can hear you all the way over here. If you keep it up, I can keep typing. You know me...

Let me dive right into it. Mostly because I'm so bloody tired. The Exhaustion... how bad is that feeling of tired? "Tired" is a nice way of putting it. Along with the fatigue is a little pain, but the pain is negligible by comparison. 

This was my morning- I got up after turning off four alarms. (I use my mobile phone as my alarm clock and I have four alarms set in a 35 minute window). I got up, staggered to the bathroom to put on my ha-ha-workout-clothes. I managed to get downstairs without falling down and I took the first of my stay-alive pills. 

I normally wait at least a half hour between my thyroid pill and my other stay-alive pills because I was told once a million years ago that I should take it on an empty stomach. But today, I got up after ten minutes and took the rest of my stay-alive pills (three of them are vitamins, the others are for my blood pressure, allergies/asthma, and acid reflux). Then I opened the cabinet to get my breakfast. Cheerios. Because gross stuff is good for you (not a fan of Cheerios). 

But the very act of pouring a bowl of cereal, getting the milk for it, walking back to my desk and then actually eating the cereal seemed too daunting a task. I usually keep some Special K cereal bars on hand for such days, but I was out. 

I had Frosted Cherry Pop Tarts for breakfast. I had Pop tarts for breakfast because cereal was too hard. I ate almost all of the two tarts and gave about a third of the second one to my dog- Gypsy. I took the dogs out- I think they love the fatigue days because I tend to stand on the deck without constantly telling them to hurry up. If I don't remind them what they're out there to do, they'd just run in circles eating grass and playing till they fall over. After I got them back inside, I went back to bed for a nap. 

I was up for less than 45 minutes before I succumbed to the fatigue. The exhaustion is worse than the pain sometimes. I mean, the pain sucks, don't get me wrong (today's pain, in case you were wondering, is about a five or six), but I can deal with the pain. I can't always stay in bed and nap. Also, I can take pain meds if I have to, but increasing my caffeine intake helps not at all for the crushing exhaustion. 

Consider yourself lucky if you don't have this disease. You know how you get tired at the office or in front of a class or digging that ditch (I don't know what you do for a living)? You yawn and stretch, let out a little groan, maybe stand up and walk around your office... or ditch. You feel a little better and you feel like you can go on. I can't do that. When I stretch, it hurts. Yawning sucks in general because it doesn't help (and I keep doing it now because I keep typing the word "yawn"). And if I get up when I'm this worn down, I'm going to shuffle-walk my ass to bed. 

Well, look at that... this wasn't as short as I expected. I told you to stop cheering about that, but you didn't listen, did you? Yeah, go think about what you've done. 

The new flare-up from Hell. They can't ALL be from Hell, can they?

I started having this flare-up on Monday. At first, it wasn't an issue, because I figured it was Faire Weekend spill-over. I always hurt the Monday after a faire weekend. But, as the day went on, the pain got worse and worse instead of better. Tuesday wasn't terrible, but I felt awful. Just that all-over achy feeling, sort of like the pre-flu. Wednesday sucked. I took pain meds all day. And on all those days, I had to take a nap in the morning. I had no choice. It was either "go take a nap for an hour" or "fall down on the floor and be smothered in Chis" (say that out loud).

Then we have today. I woke up in agony. And I mean agony. I had pain all over my body. From my toes to my head and just about everything in between. I couldn't even walk. I had to shuffle. The only way to describe that astounding amount of pain is to liken it to a sprained ankle... if that sprained ankle pain is ALL OVER YOUR BODY. It was an intense, constant pain. Every step shot a jolt of pain through my legs. My ankles felt like I had actually sprained them (I haven't, by the way. And they STILL feel like that now, late in the evening).

I couldn't take daytime Vicodin though. I had to run some errands and go to the grocery store. I hate the whole upright, living, doing, clothing thing on flareup days. My skin didn't just itch today, it felt like I was on fire. My skin still feels hot, almost like I have a fever, but its only a fever I can feel. If you were to touch my skin- that is, if I let you close enough to me to try and lay even the gentlest finger on my body- it would feel normal. I'm not sweaty, I'm not actually feverish. And as if that wasn't fun enough, the itching is doing that thing. Those hairy-legged spiders are trying to escape through my pores again.

When I got home from my errands, I just sat down at my desk. Within an hour, my body decided that my super-soft sweater was sandpaper and that my jeans were designed by the same guy who created wool blankets for the US Army. The neuropathy in my feet decided that my shoes were made of bear traps. I went upstairs and crawled into bed, leaving my clothes in a random pile near my dresser. I wasn't tired, I just needed to go starfish and even out the pain or the gravitational pull. I did end up taking a short nap, though. Not on purpose, it just happened.

I'm a few hours into my pain meds and my body finally feels a little better. The agonizing edge has been dialed back a little. Now instead of "agonizing", the pain is closer to "terrible". The itching level is at "insanity" and the fire-skin has cooled to a Girl-Scout level as opposed to "arsonist".

Tomorrow, I have to take it easy. On Saturday, I'm doing a charity photo shoot as the second photographer and since its a charity for a woman's self-confidence, I'm taking part in it. (The Traveling Red Dress- my daughters, four years apart in school, both had red prom dresses and they're going to donate those dresses to the cause. Oh, and they'll be at the photo shoot too). But if I expect to function on Saturday, I have to take it easy tomorrow.

I could do without the sprained-ankle feeling in my ankles. The thing about that pain is that it doesn't hurt if I'm not standing or moving my ankles. Right now, I'm in that proper typing position- sitting up straight, wrists resting on the padded thingy for my keyboard, and I have one foot placed slightly ahead of the other, flat on the floor. My ankles do not hurt. But if I go to flex my ankle or rotate it (one of the moves for reducing swelling in the legs), it screams in agony like I actually sprained it.

There's a comedian (Greg Behrendt, actually) who jokes about hurting oneself while one sleeps. Of course, his version is a lot funnier than mine. What do you expect? He's a comedian. I'm a fat housewife with fibrofuckingmyalgia and an obsession with renaissance faires and photography. (speaking of renaissance faires, we're 44 days from OPEN WIDE THE GATES!).

Part of my errands today was that I had to get my dad's mail (he's out of town again). While there, I weighed myself on his scale (I don't have one, he has a fancy one from the doctor that does everything but point and laugh at you). I haven't lost any weight, pounds-wise, but my clothing feels looser. I don't know why, but I wanted to mention it in case I fall into a sinkhole or something. "Well, Patty didn't stop-up that sinkhole like we expected... has she lost weight?"  No, apparently not.

Today felt worse than any of the other days that I've complained about through this blog. The pain was exacerbated by the fact I couldn't take any pain meds. I went through the grocery store almost on autopilot. There were a few times that I slowed down so much that I had to tell myself to keep moving. "If you fall down here, it will be embarrassing and they'll probably call an ambulance and you can't afford that. Plus, you have dairy in your cart. It'll go bad if you fall down here..."

I rationalize with myself. But I really did just want to stop walking and let gravity have her dirty way with me. She's pulling down on me awfully hard, she must want me closer to the ground. That's the only thing that makes sense.

I have no idea if gravity is a dude or a chick. Either way, Gravity is a bitch.

Here's hoping that I feel good enough to enjoy Saturday. My part of the red dress thing is that I'm wearing a skirt that I've never worn in public. And it shows my legs. I haven't shown my legs in a skirt since before 2004. How do I know that? Because in December of 2004, I started having issues with edema. My legs still swell up. Sometimes quite bad, sometimes not at all. I'm going to wear that red skirt with a red shirt and I'm going to rock it as hard as I can.

Right now, my only issue is footwear. Because of the pain and edema, I can't wear sandals. All I have are different styles of Doc Martens boots.

One good thing happened today. I unintentionally had a "Fro Knows Photo" theme going on with my 365s this week. Monday, I was wearing my favorite "I shoot RAW" T-shirt.  Tuesday, I put on my new "I shoot RAW" hoodie (Mother's Day gift to myself) for the photo. Wednesday, I was wearing my "FroNation" T-shirt (I have seven "I shoot RAW" shirts and the FroNation shirt as well as the new hoodie).  As I started my drag-shuffle to go lay down, I remembered I hadn't done my 365. So, I picked up my camera and grabbed my "I shoot RAW" bracelets (they come with the special deal orders. I gave one away this weekend). And since I was laying all starfished in bed, naked under the fleece blankets, alternately dying of the fire in my skin and shivering from the chill I got when I uncovered, I got artsy with my 365 and managed to stay within my unintentional Fro Knows Photo theme.




So at least there's that... and my pain meds tonight DID take the edge off my pain. Here's hoping I can get through tomorrow and enjoy Saturday.

Who am I kidding? Pain or no pain, I enjoy taking photos. I just really want to wear my Dr Martens Triumphs instead of the sandals.

My Self-portrait was a mini-novel or at least a blog post

You all know I do a 365days self-portrait thing over on Flickr. I'm about a hundred days till the end of my third year of taking a photo of myself, every day. Haven't missed a day yet. Anyway...

I was feeling semi-creative today, somewhat inspired by the "Costumes" theme in the weekly Fro Knows Photo weekend assignments. Obviously I'm not going to submit this photo, because it's terrible! I should have taken more time with it or something, I don't know. In fact, as I type this, I already know of a way I could have done it better. Lotta good that does me NOW, but let's move on.

This is a copy/paste of what I wrote in the "description" part of the photo.


I've been living with chronic pain for almost ten years. At least, I think its been almost ten years. I can't remember what it was like to not be in pain somehow. For three years, it was mostly knee pain- well, it was knee pain that hurt the most and muted the other pain.

But, I wake up every day and I lay in bed for a moment. I start at my feet and I flex my muscles- little by little. Feet, calves, thighs, hips... all the way up. It hurts every damn morning, but it hurts in varying degrees. Sometimes, it barely registers, so I get out of bed rather quickly. Some days it hurts so bad that it takes me ten minutes to go from laying in bed to standing on my feet. If you don't think that's a long time, just sit there, time yourself, for ten minutes. Some days the pain is so bad that I have to hold onto things to walk out of my room. The bed, the wall, the dresser, the door frame.

So, every day, with this chronic pain, I have to decide what my day will be like. Will I let the pain win? Will I take pain meds in the daytime to get through it? Will I be sad and desolate (the face in my hand- you can't really see it, but I was trying to be sad) or will I plaster on a smile and have a good day, no matter how much I hurt?

I usually opt for the smile. Some of my 365 photos were "faked" on really bad days. I have a fake smile or my smile is convincing, but you can see it in my eyes. I can fool you- most of you are strangers and don't actually know me. But there are a few out there who can tell. Even with the smile, they know I feel awful.

I try not to let it get me down, but some days are hard. Today was one of those days. I set my alarm for an hour early so I could try and photograph the meteor shower. But, I had a hard time falling asleep and then I had a hard time staying asleep. I ended up sleeping through that alarm and waking up twenty minutes later than I normally would. It was a five minute climb out of bed day.

I took some pain meds and a muscle relaxer when I got downstairs. I was in a crappy mood, too. Just bleh. Everything annoyed me- and I mean everything. The way my clothes felt on my skin, the way my dogs were excited to see me, the comments on Facebook, everything. I took a very short and not-at-all-good nap and felt slightly better. But things still irritated me. The disabled guy was acting mildly jerkish and I snapped at him (granted, he was being a jerk, but he didn't need me snapping at him).

So, I plastered on my smile, put on my boots and took my camera out. I took a bunch of photos along the river and ended up taking a bit of a hike at one point (I ended up sweaty and got mud on my boots). And I got some decent photos.

Most days, I choose that smile. And if I'm in such a bad way that nothing else works, I do a little photographic therapy. I still feel terrible. My resting pain level is about a seven on that one to ten scale. When I go to stand up, my legs are so sore and stiff that I can't start walking right away. And my hip, I can't even describe THAT pain. Its definitely a ten.

But, I'm in a good mood. I got out and took photos and people like them. I read some articles on Cracked that made me laugh. And as I type this, I'm an hour away from taking my next dose of pain meds.

Choose your mask well. And do a better job at Photoshop than I did. :)


My pain meds aren't living up to their name or their titles (I've referred to them on Facebook as "Sir Vicodin" and "Lord Cyclobenzaprine"). I still feel awful and moving around is just terrible. And my damn hip, I sure wish I knew what was causing that to hurt so much. I'm just relieved to know it isn't arthritis and I won't end up needing a hip replacement. Here's the photo from today- Day 251 of my third 365days project:



Anyway, I did get a whole bunch of good photos today. And, here are a few... if you're on my Facebook, then you're seeing these shots again. Sorry. I drove around to various parks so I could safely park my truck and get out to walk around. When I was almost home, I drove by a dry creek bed that I've always been meaning to stop at and photograph. So, I turned around, parked in a business parking lot (they were closed, it was Sunday) and proceeded to hike over to the creek bed- which was muddy, not dry- and take several photos. I ended up with mud on my boots (as they are intended to get on them) and sweaty from the walking and climbing over and around the creek bed. I really miss hiking. Now, if you click on any of these photos, it'll take you to my Flickr and you can look at any of the photos from today (or, well, ever... since that's where my photos are).

One of the things I hate about this stupid disease

Things are going along swimmingly, I suppose. I'm lucky enough to have gotten that elusive diagnosis which means I'm getting treated for it, and right now, that treatment is working. I am having many good days in a row, which is nice. But the one thing I hate about this...

How fickle is this stupid disease? I mean, why can I be perfectly fine one day- so fine that I can literally stand for hours and even run the length of the Bristol tilt yard and only be a little bit out of breath. And the next day, I'm so sore that I can barely get out of bed?

Okay, so there is the whole point of "well, dumbass, you just said you ran the day before..." I suppose that's true. But what about days like today? I didn't do a damn thing yesterday aside from my usual wandering around inside my house and out onto the back deck with the dogs. And today, I'm so bloody exhausted I can barely stand up. And I ache. Every muscle is hot and angry. I feel as though yesterday was a day at the faire, except I'm not still smiling about having a good time like I did on those Mondays and Tuesdays following a faire day.

This is one of the things I hate about it. Feeling good for a few days and then having the next day slam into me like a folding chair thrown by an oiled-up,  overly-steroided-up guy in tights. And this whole thing seems to hit  on days when I have to get up and leave the house. You see, that's what this blog post really is- a procrastination device. If I stay here and write this blog, I don't have to go to the store. Except that I need to go to the store and I will have to anyway when I'm done with this. But, as long as I keep typing, I can stay seated in this chair with the ridiculous wheels on the bottom and rest my wrists on this little neoprene pad with seemingly 3D water droplets on it. And when the disabled guy comes down and says, "I thought you were going to the store" I can say, "I had to write this blog first." And then he'd ask: "It isn't a blog about me, is it?" and I would say, "No, this one is about fibrofuckingmyalgia" and the problem there is that now it is kind of about him, because I just mentioned him.

I'm fully dressed, by the way. I managed to get my jeans on, my shirt, my not-shiny-anymore red Docs. But still, I'm here. Typing and typing. Things ache and I'm hungry. You shouldn't go to the store while you're hungry, but I'm going to anyway. Plus, I keep stopping while typing to look over my shoulder at the TV. There's a marathon of "NCIS" on USA right now. I'm not a huge fan or anything, but you know, it isn't a bad show- as far as these silly shows go.

I don't think I can drag this out much longer. There's a double-edged sword when it comes to fibrofuckingmyalgia. When you're this physically and mentally tired, you need caffeine to get through it. But the caffeine- if you drink too much of it- can exacerbate the fibrofuckingmyalgia symptoms. Is that even a "double-edged sword"? Did I mix up my metaphors? Is that a metaphor? When did this become a grammar lesson? Is this a grammar lesson?

No, this is just a really bad excuse to keep from dragging my significant ass to the store. Although, that ass is less significant than it was before. Seven percent less significant.

Oh, look at that... this suddenly became a bragging blog. And because of that- look what I made yesterday in Photoshop with a photo I took- also yesterday.



Neat, huh? My photo, someone else's quote. I sent her the high-res version so she can get it printed however big she wants it for the school where she works as a librarian.

But yeah, I really hate this fickle stupid disease.

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.