Yesterday? Yesterday was a latent Tuesday that bitch-slapped me upside the head.
Let me illuminate the scenario:
Tuesday was a snow day. I would like to endearingly refer to it as a “non-conforming kinda day.” I had shit to do….it didn’t get done. Moving on.
Yesterday? Seems good ol’ Momma Nature decided to have a wee giggle over encrusting all the snow we’ve gotten in a sheet of freezing rain. By encrusting, I mean a shellac-ing a COAT of ice that kept people from getting into their cars.
Meaning *I* was kept from getting into my car. Because OF COURSE the twins had their speech therapy. So what do I do? I did what any kind, endearing mother would do who’s just been out for almost an hour because the school buses were running late in -29C windchill which caused my upper legs to welt…
I hauled my numbed I’ve-earned-this-ass into the back seat (remember, currently under flare) and tried to kick the doors open.
Picture, if you will…a seriously pissed off (bordering on deranged) woman in the back seat of her car, booted feet up in the air, miming (cuz you can’t hear me on the outside now, can ya??) obscenities while two little boys stare incredulously into the car… Stupid mo-fo car. It didn’t conform. It friggin’ mocked me. Didn’t even budge.
[back into the house…grumbly and…I admit, crying like a little girl]
Listen, I try really REALLY hard not to mention my pain levels every day. I do. But you know what? I cannot. I falter at the concept of just existing. The pain’s not going away any time soon…this is the new normal…yadda yadda…BUT:
But this is the only way I know how to process what’s going on inside my body.
I, myself, am incredulous. I cannot fathom living the rest of my life at levels of this…uh…”elevation.” So? I continue on. Endure. Persevere. Eat Crunch’n’Munch.
[enter kryptonite, stage left]
If there’s one thing about all this that I cannot handle, it’s the pain in my forearms/wrists/hands/fingers. Words fail to articulate, fully, the expanse of wanting to run head-first into a wall if I thought it might satiate the hounds of hell.
My legs/knees/ankle/feet? Ya, I can sit on my I’ve-earned-this-ass and at least type. THIS post is causing me significant waves of pain, alone…
I cannot grip. Therefore, I cannot hold. I cannot hold, thus I get really freakin’ pissy. I cannot open bottles. I cannot support myself onto the toilet because the pain my back (Yup. Still there…five months next week) sends nauseating waves of “holy shit, kill me now” pain within my spine.
Isn’t being a Chronic Badass full of awesome-ry?!?
Leave. My hands. ALONE.
Nothing brings me to cry like a little girl faster than the frustration of not being able to function because my forearms/wrists/hands/fingers are seized up tighter that a nun’s…uh…moving on…
Oh. Em. Gee. Do YOU have a kryptonite to your Chronically Afflicted Super-Self?!? What’s the ONE thing (cuz we all know there’s, like, a million) that brings you down the fastest? What do you do to cope…aka…what’s YOUR lead box?!?
Thank gawds Crunch’n’Munch doesn’t come in a bottle!! 😉