But I just went and upped the game. *grin*
Now, before you get the impression that this is some giddy “HUZZAH” or a eloquently stated “BOO-YA“…I promise you there is a point to my Modus Operandi as of late.
See, it started with the wedding invitations (ppppbbbbfffftttt….that’s not where it started…the bat-shit-crazy, just where I’m starting it here)…I had posted, in error, that I’d made 75 of them. It was actually 77, plus 2 prototypes. However, seeing that I’ve already done the math for 75…I’m just gonna run with that because it still sounds freakin’ EPIC:
“Why, yes, I’M DONE!!!!!!! *happy spazzy jig* 75 invites…75 covers cut, 75 invitation pieces cut & adhered, 75 pieces of ribbon, 75 pieces of “bling”, 75 sentiments embossed, 75 stamped images…150 stamps, 150 return addresses written, 150 address labels, 150 eyelets and 300 muth’a freakin’ INSERTS. BOO-YA!!! Damn proud of myself…damn proud…”
Score 1 for GO, GO Spazzy Hands!
Then….THEN….I started something today I’ve never done:
See…I’m not just bat-shit crazy…I’m freakin’ CERTIFIED.
Two months before the handfasting, and here I am, starting to sew the dress my little girl will wear. Uh huh. That’s right. (And it won’t stop there…I’ve got all the boys’wear to do, too…tunics and trousers)
One day, 7 pattern pieces, fusible interfacing (sounded way cooler than it actually is…), one screw-up….and I’ve got the shell of the dress done.
Score 2 for GO, GO Spazzy Hands!!
Now, I’ve heard hither and thither that I may be “pushing” myself…that my “plate” overflow-eth…that some butter is being spread a little something something…
Dude. If you’re talking food, bring it on…otherwise, you need to hear this:
I am sitting here typing with hands that are seizing. I have a hot pack on my lumbar. I look forward to bedtime tonight because it means doping myself stupid with pharmaceutical poisons just to get the rest my failing carcass requires.
Why would I do the tasks by which I could very well easily delegate to someone else?
Because THAT would sure as shit NOT be epic. Anti-epic. The epitome of the epic that wasn’t.
Did it impress you that GO, GO Spazzy Hands crafted, from scratch, with multiple afflictions and a snafu’d lumbar spine, 77 plus 2 wedding invitations in their entirety?
Did it impress you that Gimp Girl, whilst sitting due to snafu’d lumbar spine with a hot pack under the Ass of Gimp, Googled and endured Youtube videos about sewing techniques I’d never ever heard of before now?
Why do I push myself?
I have a failing body, not a failing mind*.
*okay, cognitive impairments due to afflictions are NOT what I’m referring to…
Whose recognition do I want? Whose recognition do I feel I need? That’s my little secret.
What matters is this: At the end of the day, I’m going to be “stupid hurting”. RiDONKulous hurting, whether I sit, stand, make invitations or sew a dress. So, it stands to reason that I would want to, at the end of said day, look back upon it with some measurable amount of pride and esteem. Okay, admittedly, I also have the release of the quasi-breakdown multiple times per week…but…
It also stands to reason that I would want to, at the cessation of my cellular activity, have my friends and family say, “Holy shit…look at all she accomplished…”
I want to have my children to say, “My mummy is my hero…”
I’m on a timeline. I have goals. I have dreams. I have a to-do list the length of my snafu’d spine that doesn’t, nor should it, match the expectations of others not currently chronically afflicted.
I’ve been trying to understand my limitations since the day my back stood still…and I still cannot, with any fibre of my being, reduce myself to just watching life pass me by, or of being envious by watching other people live the life that *I* want for *ME*.
[cue Bon Jovi music, “It’s My Life….”]
So? So I made 77 plus 2 invitations.
So, I taught myself to sew.
So, I continue to do physiotherapy exercises to make sure I can dance at my wedding. I continue to test my blood sugar and swallow my fistful of pharmaceutical poisons…I continue to work and manage a household, be it finances or menu planning.
I concede there will be times where I will genuinely require assistance.
I will genuinely ask for assistance.
Until then, allow me to make my mark on the world…
I have purposes, a method for my madnesses, a plan for the deliriums…
….they are the most important scenes in the made-for-tv-movie version of my life…
“If you don’t like the hand you’re dealt, change the way you play the game…”