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Team Jabroni…

So today I’m walking around at the speed of a thundering herd of turtles. I am the polar opposite of Speedy Gonzales.  I could break the sound barrier in a trillion years at this pace.

What gives? *shrug* Hell if I know. I was “fine” yesterday. Today I am “weird”. Have I defined “weird”, yet? Likely not. I’ve no clue how to define this fuzzy…drunken (but not!)…spazoid…flailing appendages…ass-over-teakettle…tin roof…rusted…feeling. I stood in the shower this morning and thought, at one point, “What the hell do I do now?” Seriously? Pick up the damned poufy loufa thingy!! Squirt body wash on it. Lather. Rinse. Don’t bother repeating ‘cuz you’ve just used up your 2.2 minutes trying to get your bloody brain cells to cooperate. Nope. Couldn’t think of what in the blue hell I was supposed to do. 🙁 *sigh*

I know it’s the meds, but I’ve got a bit of an issue.  I start the next level of dosage tomorrow night. (Has it seriously been 10 days already? Seriously??)



“Let’s get ready to STUMBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

What’s the problem? Well, Tuesday marks the beginning of my new job!!! YAY!! GO ME!!! HOO-AH!!!

“Where are you working?”

I’mma workin’ INSIDE ME! :o)

“You have, most assuredly, lost your freakin’ mind…”

No, I told you…I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and amma comin’ up wearing a corset and holding a sword, remember??


Next Tuesday is the first time, in 16 YEARS, that I will have time for “me.” All of my children will be in school.  Downsizing the daycare means that I only have school-age children, who will also be in school.

It’s my time.

And it scares the living freakin’ shit outta me. WHY?!

*takes a deep breath*

Because I’m afraid of being held accountable for the classes I’ve written into my day planner. I’m afraid that if I need to sleep in the afternoon before the bus run, instead of cleaning, that I will be perceived as being “lazy.”  I’m afraid my soon-to-be-husband will think I’m taking advantage of his hard work and paychecks. I’m afraid that having so much “free time” will make me freak out not knowing what the hell to do with myself.  I’m afraid that I’ll feel so badly fuzzy that I can’t go to my classes. I’m afraid that my medication will prevent me from driving to said classes.  I’m afraid said classes will make me feel so bad for the first few weeks that I’ll lose the motivation to go.  I’m afraid that I will schedule too much…still…and end up overhauling the entire house…cleaning out the basement…cleaning out the garage…

Why would I even think of doing that??

Because I absolutely know NO other way to live my day.  I’ve been doing the “git’er done” for 16 years.  Giving eleventy-billion% every day.

But it all boils down to perceptions.  I do not. EVER. want to be perceived as being “lazy”, sitting and eating bon-bons all day (which would totally never happen as diabetic chocolates freakin’-ass SUCK.)…but:

I’m tired.

Dead-girl Walking needs a goddamned break from life.  

I cry just thinking of that. Because?

I’m also afraid that I won’t “do it right”…taking this time for me…time I desperately need in order to…well…literally save my life.  My kidneys are…well, it doesn’t really matter does it? I know. Important people know. I will do everything in my bloody power to try to change this course of whatever “fate” thingy I believe in.

So? I’ll make myself a mantra again. Yoinking it from The Rock. Old school stuff. My ultimate of faves. Why do you think I would pick him over countless others??

 “It doesn’t MATTER what you think…!!”

*shifty eyes*

*ducks and runs*


  1. Tami Stackelhouse

    Um…. girl? Can I just say…. ARE YOU NUTS?! (Lovingly, of course!)

    If you want to get better, you don’t go piling on a bunch of new stuff to do. NO! You need to give your little ol’ body some time to heal! And in case you can’t remember ’cause your brain cells are fried, we heal when we REST. As in, don’t do a million things. As in, relax. Slow down. =) Trust me, I learned this the hard way!

    I wrote a whole series of articles on my blog about my experience with this. To make it all nice and handy for ya, here’s the first one: First Commandment of Healing: Don’t be an Ass. Honor Your Body.

    Love ya! *mwah*

  2. Tami Stackelhouse

    Okay, one more thing… I totally relate to your fears because it also took me freakin’ forever to realize that I didn’t have to do it all & put up a “brave face” and all that other stuff. That it was okay to ask for help – and receive it when offered.

    I firmly believe that the reason that women have fibro more than men is because we’re TERRIBLE at taking care of ourselves first. And when you have fibro and want to get well, you HAVE TO. You have a golden opportunity to put yourself first for a while. You can do it! <3

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