And sometimes everything just feels so loud. All the decisions made have alternative choices and even when I chose okay, those other options I didn’t take, haunt me. Could I have been more prepared or more efficient?

Why isn’t my best ever satisfying?

I finally used the analogy of too many browser windows open at once to my 10 year old. She will grow up very much like me. I hope she struggles less and learns fewer things the hard way but I see a lot of similarities and I wish I knew what helpful things to say. The truth is, she wouldn’t listen even if I did because she’s me on so many levels.

Compartmentalization is great unless you’re a mental hoarder. The cubicles get so numerous and full. So cluttered. This is why I list. This is why I blog. This is why I drink. This is why I wish canna products were legal everywhere. Anything to clear the spaces and quiet the mental clutter. This is why I love music and tedious craft hobbies, even though the crafting exacerbates a lot of my other symptoms. This is why I have to go pedal to the metal until it comes crashing down. This is why I am bad at pacing myself.




I’ve been on near bed rest for 3 days. If you look at my neck in profile there’s no curvature left and from the back it is S-shaped. All the vertebra are grinding on the back and pulling apart in the front. It’s painful. Now other bits are flaring due to my prolonged time in bed. My hips are both messed up and my knees will be along soon.

I have some religious rants tumbling about but nowhere seems like the time or place for such rambling. Let’s just say that it’s easier to come to terms with, “I have shit genes and a will to live despite them” than it is to convince myself, “I’m being tested” or, “this is karma for a long dead crime.”

Feeling, ‘me, me, me’ feels so selfish. Half the world is drowning, half the world is burning and world leaders are having pissing matches while random acts of violence are carried out everywhere. My friends are losing loved ones and I’m over here with, “my neck hurts and my kid moves so slow before school.”

I still need to rant. I want to rage and scream and proclaim, “why me!” I don’t want to overwhelm those who can relate or burden those who can’t. I don’t want to be placated with promises of health when life holds no such guarantees. I’m tired of people saying they’ll pray for me or they just know I’ll get better soon or I need to hurry up and get better already.

I want to tell all the well meaning halfwits to go fuck off already. But I also want to feel better about something. Anything really. Since I rather loathe anyone taking that much pity, it makes me emotional and then I get weepy, it’s time to go accomplish things. I will make things better, in my own house, (where I can control things) with loud music and soft critters.

Seriously, this is the source of all my ambition. If I can fix something, improve something, make something, it makes up a wee bit for how I feel and I feel like I’m crumbling away.


Mild Panic

Why does anyone leave anything for the last minute?

I’d like to preamble this with admitting I was the queen of last minute papers and such in school, but these things bored me and required little if any effort and As were always maintained.

Moving is another matter! Life stuff is another matter. These matters matter! Matter. Matter. Matter. My grey matter is scattered. I can’t tell if it’s time for coffee or wine but clearly a beverage would do nicely. 

6 days til we have the truck. 

2 helpers for sure to load said truck.

8 days til we vacate this house.

11 days til new house.

12 days until truck goes back.

15 days til he goes back to work.

Holy expletives Batman! 


Witty title etc

It’s been awhile.

We, and by we I mean me and my laundry list of medical issues, we have gone from damaged organs and an awkward trip to the ER to back off all meds and doing fantastic (considering) to full blown flare. 

Full. Blown. Flare. 

I’m too exhausted to even stress the move that much. The move, to another state, in 9 days. 9 days.

Independence day was nice. The SO was home this year and we didn’t have any crazy plans. First time that’s happened in ages. Last year he was in Iwo Jima, the year before we were at the Whitehouse and the year before that he was in Afghanistan. We could have bbq’d and we should have packed and there were social obligations we could have attended but we went out for Mexican food and saw Wonder Woman on the big screen. It was laid back. No big fireworks were seen in person but we did sparklers with the girls out in the back yard and watched a Capitol Fourth on PBS. 

When I meet anyone else dealing with fatigue or fibro or anything chronic and painful I preach the importance of naps. Naps are the difference between managing from day to day and utter collapse of your personal world. No exaggerations. Sleep deprivation is heinous and destructive for a healthy person. Deprive someone of sleep for too long when they are dealing with chronic illness and it’s a recipe for disaster. Nap when you can. 

I napped after coffee, before the movie, after the movie and before sparklers. 4 naps. Four naps. That’s a record. Naps are a litmus test for how badly I’m flaring. This one is probably setting records. I should log symptoms. Logging symptoms is a good idea for identifying foods and activities that increase your symptoms. 

I’m now blogging and pleased with my efforts because I’ve been awake for 5 consecutive hours and managed to wash dishes and laundry. Take those little accomplishments, no matter how small. My accomplishments today were small but still valid, but they took a monumental effort. 

A monumental effort to accomplish small deeds is the difference between a normal person and someone who is invisibly ill. 

If I weren’t so tired I might wonder if I am flaring right now because there’s another adult around (for once) and not everything rests on solely my shoulders or if I am flaring because the past 3 months have been chaotic with moving and single parenting. Maybe it’s the last 2 years of diagnosis chasing and pharmacy guinea pigging. I am exhausted. There’s no excuse or sugar coating that will change just how tired I feel. Exhausted.

My to do list is lengthy. Lists are a great way to prioritize when you can’t risk over doing it. So lengthy. There’s no possible way I can manage it all. Even with help it can’t all be done. But I can manage the most pressing tasks. What choice do I have, really? Being this deep into a flare when I can’t just drop everything, I can’t drop anything really, it all needs to find itself finished at some point quite soon. 

The truck will be ready to pack in 7 days and the keys to the place we occupy need to be returned in 9. 12 days until the new place. 13 until we return the moving truck. 

My body can’t quit for another 13 days. One day at a time.


Progress, mostly

I drove back to Virginia for the last time in a long time. The next trip to the new state will be a one way affair, with a moving truck and all our earthly possessions, vehicles, animals and mini people in tow.

So now the frantic prep work can finally begin. The packing, the cleaning, inspections, paperwork, medical, dental, school and veterinary records. Cleaning out the fridge, eating up what’s perishable. So many minute details. 

I sort of forgot what it was like having another adult around. It’s an adjustment, to be sure. He’s greatly missed my cooking. The cat is getting used to him and the dog is in heaven now her favorite person is home. 

Less than 3 full weeks now. 

Health stuff: Fibro and moving don’t play well together. IBS and eating fastfood on a long drive is horrid. Between the IBS and my celebrex induced ulcer, the doc thinks I might have celiac. Regardless, gluten is off the list. 

Eating out when you can’t have dairy, gluten and fried is tough. Thank goodness for fruit.