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Because I can.

You’re not supposed to ever start a sentence with the word, “because.”



It’s been a helluva week….first, the wedding on the 5th…second…the catch-up, cleaning and re-arranging that comes after a wedding (As in, “Where the bejeezus do I put all of these glorious gifts?!”)…third…the Walk for Lupus, Ottawa Edition on the 12th.

Exactly one week after a wedding.


Just the way I roll.



As I sit here envisioning the hounds of hell whose jaws are invariably gripping every fibre of my being betwixt their polished canines, the voices inside of my head cry a collective, “WHY?!

Why on earth do I continuously put myself through the wringer in order to do things that, in the big picture of the chaos of my reality, just seem…excessive?!?


Because I can.

I can cry you a river with the best of the Eeyores, I can.  But, at the end of the day, they did nothing.  I, on the other hand, crafted a wedding and orchestrated a team effort.

I did…a helluva lot.

Listen, I’m going to hurt whether I get off of my I’ve-earned-this-ass or not.

Why not take a chance?  What’s the worst that could happen?

I could recognize that I was overdoing something and stop?

Did I “overdo” it?  Dude.  My entire life revolves around over-doing things…my OCD can attest to that!

I’m also, if you’re aware of it, quite an accredited academic.

Meaning, I’m sure as shit not going to do something so ridiculously strenuous that I’m going to land my keister in the hospital.

So, yesterday…I walked with my husband and a handful of my dear friends for a whopping 15 minutes to raise $$ and awareness to the disease that’s claiming my cellular activity.  Why?

Because I can.

I also made sure that I got myself some red tights (fishnet, cuz that’s all the store had in red!), made myself a cape…and stuffed myself into my black leather corset.

Why the attire?

Because I can.

It serves as a reminder that although the difficulties and challenges that I face will likely continue for awhile, that it hasn’t “claimed” me…that I’ve not succumbed to the intensity of the pain that lands me in tears most every eve’ and sees me crawl up the stairs (although, I refuse to go down the stairs on my bum…I don’t want things to…jiggle).

In a nutshell, I still want to have some fun.  And, as it was also for an incentive for pledges and donations…it landed my “Team SpoonieVille” into the Gold Award category for amounts raised.

Pretty cool shit for a heathily defunct woman, no?

Someone had asked me why I walk.

“Because I can.”

Of course, I rambled off a very eloquent and inspiring synopsis, but as a short version, that would have been a pretty concise “nutshell.”

Many people who are chronically afflicted cannot.

I can.

I can, therefore, I do.

Yes, I hurt.  Yes, I wish I hadn’t stuffed my pericarditis-afflicted upper torso into  a corset…but DAH-YUM did it ever provide lower lumbar support to walk in!  Because I have to think of things like that.  “What do I need to do today in order to function?”

Yes, I want to throw-up from the nauseating pain resonating through my fingers that are swollen and feel like I’ve got a sunburn….from the inside out.  Don’t even get me started on how pissed I’m getting at having to use the friggin’ backspace button writing this post due to my fingers continuously seizing and hitting the wrong mo-fo key (I just typed “moo-fo”…because apparently I’ve got a hate on for cows?!? *headdesk*).

Case in point.

The question that I ask myself is this:

“But can I DO it?”


It doesn’t matter if I want to do it or not…that is irrelevant to me.

For example:

I didn’t know you could speak Italian!

Actually, I don’t.  I learned that part of my reception speech two weeks before the wedding.  Yes, that’s correct.  I had my step-mum teach me the proper pronunciation for a small statement of thanks I wanted to make to my Italian step-family for attending.  I practised hard for two weeks straight in order to better effect the intonation and inflections of the language in the passage I was to speak.  Why would I do that?

Because I can.

Strength.  Determination.  Self-discipline.  Perseverance.  EFFORT.

My hands and legs (and ankles and lower back and wrists and elbows (which really pisses the hell out of me)) may crap out on me…but I still have a very capable brain.

Actually, I still have a pretty capable EVERYthing…though I’m learning to adjust and compensate where required.  I constantly have to make negotiations with myself in order to fluently manipulate my functionality for the day.

Legs don’t work?  Write a post.

Hands don’t work?  Get out for a walk.

Brain a little fuzzy?  Lay off the vodka.

How I make it through each day without drinking and/or ending up on the evening news is beyond me.


That IS correct.  I DO make it through.

Because I can.

True story.

Signed, Your Friendly Neighbourhood Chronic Badass from the True North Strong and Free xo



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