Some days

You know those days when you're feeling great because you've got life by the horns?


Today is not one of those days.




So here it is.  I'm tired.  Tired of how people only talk about themselves (the irony of me blogging about this is not lost on me, but since everyone around me seems to complain I don't tell them anything, this ends up being the one place I'm occasionally willing to share stuff to everyone at once).  Tired of people telling me they're upset with me because I haven't informed them about my medical crap. (Seriously, don't ask how I'm doing or what you can do to help; instead, just accuse me of somehow wronging you! Because, after all, I need THAT added stress.)  Tired of people holding me captive while they blather on and complain about crap that just.doesn't.matter.  (Really? Your husband isn't letting you have a landscaper this season? And you broke your nails digging in the dirt?  Seriously, do I have to waste precious minutes of my life on this?)  Tired of my back being blistered and peeling like a molting snake (apparently a large quantity of steroids makes you a bit more sensitive to the sun). Tired of watching perfectly healthy people treat their bodies like total crap.  Tired of others not showing any interest in something unless it allows them to butt in to tell their own totally unrelated stories, proving they haven't listened to a damn thing you've said anyway.

I know this is a really crap read today. I struggled with whether I should even blog at all today.  And then I decided that life isn't all roses and sunshine, and neither is this place.  I'm tired.  I'm overwhelmed.  And if we're being honest, I'm a complete mess.  (The broom fell out of the closet and hit me in the eye on Sunday, and I laid down on the floor and bawled.)

That's because if the emotional toll of this crap disease and the even bigger crap drugs weren't enough, the physical stuff that goes along with it is horrendous.  Add in a toad-filled muddy basement and thousands and thousands of dollars of mounting bills and dealing with lawyers and village managers and school administrators and overpriced cleaning services as a result, and it's a complete recipe for disaster.  C-man's been acting up, which is no surprise when you consider his surroundings, and that makes me feel even crappier.  I have baskets of laundry cluttering every corner of the house because I have nowhere to put all these blankets and hammocks and extraneous crap without a basement.

I know nobody has died.  I know we aren't terminally ill.  And I know we've got ample food in our bellies.  I'm just tired of my consolation being not dead, dying or starving.