Last Thursday and Friday I spent the majority of my time sleeping. When I wasn’t sleeping (a.k.a. recovering from my Wednesday shift) I was doodling on my new toy. I finally hooked that bad boy up to my old Photoshop and, well, let’s just say I was in heaven. If I wasn’t so damned tired I think I would have created something worthy of sharing with you. As it is, I just doodled and made a couple of fancy buttons. I just wanted to see if the Bamboo lived up to my high expectations and Oh. My. God. Yup, sure did. My Geek side was damned near orgasmic. This is not a lie.

And, because my dear friend Kelly decided to brag, I’ve decided my next gadget will be a Xoom. Do not judge me, people. I likes the gadgets.

Ok, that was me getting sidetracked. Getting back on topic: My current boss called me on Thursday and asked me if I really wanted to leave. Yup. What if she changed my position? Um… well… She made me feel guilty because she did help me out of a really tough spot back when TheMan hightailed it out of the house. And I do mostly like her. But no. She asked about the person who mentioned that it was unfair the rest of the staff that some people only work a couple of shifts a day. I told her that someone really did say that and it really did bother me, but I’m not going to tell who said it. Why would I? It makes no difference. That person put in his notice and won’t be there much longer. I told her if it pissed me off she would’ve heard about it via a more angry method. But it didn’t piss me off, just made me more resolved. She asked me to please think about taking that other position and to get back to her.

Le sigh.

So, yesterday I went to lunch with an old friend, who left there a couple of months ago because of an unfair suspension. We went into my store because I wanted to take advantage of my discount while I still could. Anyway, the boss asked if I made my decision. I won’t be staying, I told her. She was visibly upset and I felt a little more guilty. Imagine that. Still, as more people came over to gossip and tell us of their shitty tips and just discuss stuff, I started to feel less guilty. Nope. That place is not for me anymore and I’ll be glad to put it into my “past employment” column. I have a feeling that at the end of my shift today (if I even get to work) I’ll be doing a hobbly happy dance.

When I haven’t been sleeping the last few days, I’ve been drawing and doodling. That Bamboo pen is so much fun. It’s also made me put a regular pencil to regular paper. I noticed yesterday that every time I look at something I see lines and shapes and shades and calculate how I would draw it. It’s under my skin now. My point is, though, that I’m going to work on that more. I’ve got a bunch of ideas and over the next week I’m going to implement them and then post them here. Hopefully I have that new design ready to roll out. I’m going to work on being creative and see how that goes for me. Well, that and actually finishing a project.

I had a point to this post, but it’s gone now. I have to get ready for my last shift and whatever witty and interesting thing I was going to tell you has flown right out of my head. Woo hoo! I’m phoning this in, if you can’t tell. I don’t feel it. So, time to wrap it up. I’ll let you know how today goes.

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I didn’t get a chance to turn in my notice yesterday. The Key and Associate manager was there, but my direct supervisor wasn’t. Plus I was still thinking maybe I could keep this job. I’ve been there for over 2 years and, like someone who stays with an abuser, feel some kind of loyalty to the place. It felt weird just thinking about going somewhere else. But throughout my shift I became more resolved and realized that it’s for the best even it wasn’t for my physical well being.

A little history: Last May our GM got fired and a new guy was brought in. The Corporate HR chick came in and interviewed us all and asked us if we’d seen our old GM taking money out of the bar register or deleting checks. Well, duh, that’s all part of his job, right? He’s got to give discounts to pissed off guests, reconcile the receipts and whatever else needs done with the money. But we all told stories of his history of sexual harassment, asking guests to leave so he could their table to someone else, throwing hellacious tantrums and just generally being an asshole. The new guy seemed nice and reasonable. Most of us liked him.

Well, over the last couple of months a lot of people have been fired or suspended for bullshit reasons. Then someone asked the old GM what he thought was going on and he asked one of his old buddies at Corporate then he told that other someone the new guy wants to clean out the whole staff. He wants to get rid of anyone that was here under the old GM. Some of us think that it’s just the people that were loyal to the old GM– maybe people that came to his defense during the investigations. I was never concerned because I couldn’t stand that motherfucker. He was the biggest asshole I’d ever met and I happily told the Corporate chick shit I’d seen him do. Then two of my friends were suspended for reasons that made zero sense.

One was suspended for 3 weeks because a secret shopper¹ said she didn’t smile when she greeted them. The hostess that day was graded poorly because she was snotty to them when they came in and the managers were graded with a big fat 0% because they didn’t go out to talk to them². The food from the kitchen took ½ an hour and the steak was overdone. She got suspended for 3 weeks but no one else received any “punishment”. Servers are awesome scapegoats for incompetent managers and kitchen staff, just so you know. Anyway, she decided not to come back from her suspension and they hired 2 people to replace her.

Another friend was suspended for 2 weeks because they heard a rumor that she was doing crack. A rumor. She was, at the time, divorcing from her husband and was trying to figure out how to handle the bills on her own. She was stressed the fuck out. So, what better way to help her out than to suspend her for two weeks so she could “get herself together”? She offered up her urine and blood to prove she was innocent, but the rumors were strong and out she went. She went the next day and got a test all on her own. Imagine their surprise when it came back negative. She decided not to come back and they hired 2 people to replace her.

Another was just let go because she was joking too loud with a regular guest, offending a guest in another booth. She told the regular (our regulars come there for the funny, by the way) that she wanted to go home, so don’t keep her too long. Har-dee-har. The guest to whom she was speaking laughed. The other person eavesdropping complained. The server was fired. They hired 3 people to replace her.

Are you seeing a pattern here?

Then last night I found another girl was suspended for two weeks for a guest complaint. The complaint? Well, apparently the guest ordered a caesar salad, but with bleu cheese dressing. She mistakenly brought him the salad with caesar dressing already on it and with a side of bleu cheese. He got pissed, she went back to fix it, he complained– she got suspended. Didn’t matter that the mistake was easily remedied. Doesn’t matter that it happens all the fucking time. Nope. Gotta suspend her for 2 weeks.

That’s bullshit. We have guests come in all the time looking for something for free. The best way to get it? Complain about the food or service. Most restaurants will give the complainer a discount of some sort. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve taken away half eaten food when a hair mysteriously appears right on top of it. One time it was a perfectly placed fly. Another time was a piece of finger nail. No lie. It’s an obvious placement, too. I mean, sure, these things can end up on food, but it’s generally not apparent when it’s being dressed or taken out. If it’s sitting very nicely on top of a half eaten strip steak, you can bet your sweet ass that it was placed as a scam. Happens all the time. Anyway, we know this and our managers know this. But because of the bullshit with our other GM the management staff is under a lot of pressure to bring the money situation under control. They’re getting heat from their bosses. They pass that down to us. Servers as scapegoats, don’t forget. Doesn’t fucking matter how bad the place is managed or how much money the previous guy stole or the fact that the service manager has her obvious favorites who neither any wrong or do their jobs. So it’s one person at a time until they stop feeling pressure. Suspending and firing people makes it look like they’re taking things seriously, but there are no other policy changes happening to make that store run more efficiently. None.

Finally, they’ve fired the teacher I mentioned in my last post. Not because she can’t do her job, but because she can only do her job on weekends. She’s worked there for 10 years and for the past 4 she’s worked full time in the summer and weekends only during the school year. They told her they couldn’t have her on anymore because she can only work 2 days. That’s it. After 10 years. I don’t know how many people will replace her, but I’m sure there are a couple in the pipe. The plan is for them to have enough servers that there will be 18 on the floor every day, plus 2 extras– but no server can have more than 4 shifts a week. Do you know how many single parents are working there?

Anyway, so all of this is going on yesterday. People are freaking out and deciding that they just can’t do that. Yes they can, I tell them, because Ohio is an at-will employment state. They could theoretically walk through the alley and tell everyone they’re fired. There are no contracts and no one’s job is safe. One chick said “Well, that’s an awful lot of us. They can’t replace us all.” Yes, actually, they can. Servers are a dime a dozen and all of us are expendable. That wasn’t a very popular thing to say, but the facts are the facts. We’re all on the chopping block. They’re cleaning house and there’s nothing they can do about it. Corporate doesn’t give a flying fuck, according to my first friend who was suspended for 3 weeks, they just want their profits.³.

By the end of my shift I decided that I made the right decision. My whole body was stiffening up, as it’s wont to do when it’s ready to curl up and die, and I don’t like the idea of someone finding a reason to can my ass. I did at one point threaten to use the ADA against them, because they know about my fibro. Just to be contrary and put the fear of god in their asses. But what’s the point? That job isn’t a good fit for me anymore. I just can’t do it and it’s time for me to move on. I predict in 6 months the entirety of the front of house staff will be new people anyway. Better to hit the road now. One of my friends told me she didn’t want me to go and asked for me to think about it. I told her it’s just too physically painful for me and I’m just not willing to fight the politics of the place just so I can be allowed to wait fucking tables. Fuck that. There are some folks there that have never worked anywhere else and others that do anything they can to get in good with the managers. They’re going to be in for a big surprise. It’s kind of sad, huh?

Today is a bad pain day for me. I’ve got a new one– my upper body feels way too heavy for my hips. It’s very weird and very painful. I always feel like I’ve been in a car accident after I have an extra stressful shift. I’m so not going to miss that. Kelly assures me that I’ll still be sore, but that’s ok. I’m convinced I won’t be as sore and that will be so fucking fantastic. I don’t work at this job again until Sunday so I have a couple of days to recover– just in time for another flare. Woo hoo! Where the hell is spring?

1. A secret shopper is someone hired by the corporation to come in and evaluate the store then send a report back to Corporate. If they’re pissed when they come in they can cause a server to get fired.
2. They’re supposed to be seen in the dining room and personally greet every table.
3. That’s absolutely shocking, isn’t it? I know. I couldn’t believe it either.

It’s the goddamned FMS¹ rearing it’s ugly head again. I’m trying to decide which part of this disease sucks worse: the pain, the fatigue, or the fog (the three biggest issues I personally experience with the FMS). I thought about not writing about it, but it’s a huge part of my life right now. And I can’t really focus on anything else. Might as well get this whine out of my system, huh?

The pain is way worse after a shift and most days I can pretend it’s not really there. I get used to that after a while and can muddle through it. I’m very particular about the kind of clothes I wear because certain fabrics irritate my skin beyond the point where I can ignore it. I make sure I don’t get too physically close to people because they might accidentally bump up against me. And I’m not afraid to slather on the muscle cream like it’s some kind of miracle lotion. It’s hard for me to get around after a shift, because my legs don’t want to move, but I manage. When I’m having a major flare, I can’t ignore it, of course. When that’s happening even my own hair brushing against my neck hurts like hell². My bras don’t actually hurt my breasts– a common complaint from other female fibromites–³ but the straps and clasp just about kill me. Currently I only wear a bra when I go to work– I’ll let gravity win that one. Pfft. I don’t wear jeans outside of work because the waist band and the inner seams⁴ irritate me. Anyway, I quite literally dress for comfort. I could go on, of course, because there are a lot more areas of pain, but you get the point.

The fog comes and goes. It’s not constant like the pain⁵. You can see the difference in the way I write sometimes. When it’s really dense, I don’t write, of course. But I try to fight it when it’s not too bad and, man, it comes through loud and clear in my writing. I can just imagine the quirked eyebrows and head shaking that happens when random web surfers happen upon my stuff. The other day I went to make coffee, waited for it to get done and then found out I’d forgotten to put the coffee in the filter. Oops. I’ve had to pull my car over because I’d forgotten where I was, though I knew where it was I was supposed to be going. I don’t even try to have verbal conversations when I’m foggy. That’s just way too humiliating. Trust me on this. I have a pretty simple job, but I still have to write every damned thing down and then I verbally go through the list until I’ve got it all done⁶. Actually I do have some fun with the verbal lists by singing the items over and over. Yes, the fun is my way of saving face, but we’ll pretend otherwise. Ok? Good.

I can’t hide or fight the fatigue. At times that shit is all consuming. No amount of protein or Vitamin B or caffeine helps me. I feel flat– as if I’m deflated. There’s nothing to me but the desire to sleep. Last week I had a particularly bad bout. Once again I had to call Millie to come take Lil’lady to school and then slept the rest of the day. There was nothing else I could do. When I feel like that my body is so weak that I can barely lift my arms. Everything is too heavy, too loud or too bright. Lil’lady told me to try Lyrica⁷ so I could stop being sick and could come pick her up from school. I think if there was some way around the fatigue… but there’s not. There’s nothing to be done except to wait it out. I have at least one day a month when I’m completely unable to get out of bed (off the couch)– can’t even stay awake for more than 5 minutes at a time. Today it’s not that bad, obviously, but I’m still struggling with my energy resources. I want to do more, of course, than I’m physically capable of doing and that frustrates the hell out of me.

My doctor says he wants me to get injections right into my tender points. The attached image shows where tender points are located. The criteria for a diagnosis of FMS is that the patient have 11 of the 18 bilaterally. I’m lucky enough to have all 18 of them. My doctor says I also have “full spinal involvement”. That means that my spinal column is basically one big tender point. I’ve not been able to verify this via any other research or criteria, so I’m not really sure it’s validity, but I’m going with it. He’s the doctor, right? Anyway, tender points are spots on fibromites that are extra super-duper sensitive and painful. The level of pain varies from spot to spot and day to day, but they are the most painful spots on our bodies. The tender point test, part of getting this fabulous diagnosis, is incredibly uncomfortable. When I had mine it sent me into a flare. My shoulders, elbows and knees are the worse ones– always. I’m constantly aware of them. Anyway, Doc says if I get the shots the pain will ease for however long. I’m too afraid to try. I can’t even imagine what it would be like getting 18 shots in the most painful parts of my body. At the same time I wonder if it would bring me some kind of relief right now. Could it possibly just wake me the fuck up?

I want to do a couple of things that might help me find some relief during the winter. 1: Move south of the 37°N parallel⁸. 2: Get another fucking job. Luckily, my boss has agreed to allow me to change positions at my current job, so I won’t have to be so physical at work⁹. She’s pretty awesome. Doesn’t help with the cold weather, though. After chatting with some folks on Twitter today, I think I’ve decided that I’d rather move to Key West than to Costa Rica. I know there are no monkeys in Key West, and that’s a huge con, but there are some beautiful beaches. Plus it’s easier to drive back to Ohio and I don’t need a passport. Since I can do neither of the things I’ve listed, I guess I’m just going to be a whiny ass titty baby until at least April. Sorry.

Good grief, I’m tired. Guess this is as good a place as any to end this boring post. Did you make it all the way to the bottom? Aw, that’s so sweet of you! Please understand that I didn’t write this as a sympathy post. I’m just not feeling very well right now, so I had to get that nonsense off my chest. No need to tell me you feel bad for me, though if you do feel that way I appreciate it. I’ll probably have this damned “syndrome” for the rest of my life, so it’s just what it is. I’ll live. I hope. Ha! Stay tuned, though, because some anonymous dude on Twitter pissed me off and as soon as I get my head cleared I’m going to post a rant about that.

1. Fibromyalgia
2. It feels like tree branches scratching against my skin.
3. I shell out for the really nice ones.
4. Strange, huh?
5. Though the severity of the pain isn’t constant.
6. Getting drink refills, butter, bread, etc. My coworkers think that’s downright hilarious.
7. She saw an advertisement on t.v.
8. See here for why. Beware, though, it’s a research paper from the Mayo Clinic. There’s a lot of jargon. Good for insomnia if you’re not interested in Vitamin D deficiency.
9. I actually want to blog about that too.

Actually it’s more than just the weather. I’m just sick of every damned thing. Have been for a little while now. I’ve deleted my Facebook account simply because I’m sick to death of seeing everyone updating in text speak. If your status is mere 50 characters long, why the hell do you need to replace “you” with “u” and remove the last letter of words such as “back” so it reads “bac”. Really? It was driving me crazy and, sadly, it seemed like a virus that was spreading through my friends list. Facebook is boring for me. I can’t be bothered with it anymore so I goes bye-bye¹. Meh.

My personal life has settled down. I’ve lost interest in going out and even hanging out. I’ve tried to conform to the culture in this town, but I really can’t. I realized I just don’t have enough time in my life. Call it a mid-life crisis, or whatever, but I just feel like I’ve been wasting even more of my time than I was prior to my little rebellious period. Of course, this goes all the way to the root of my psyche, as I seem to have the innate ability to sabotage myself. I get somewhere, make progress somehow, and then put the brakes on. I actually become frozen with the fear that I might actually succeed at something. So I don’t. I quit. It’s a psychological thing. Ingrained in my personality. I’m kind of known now for starting projects and…*sigh*² Hey! I did finish knitting a hat for my daughter. That’s something, isn’t it? I almost lost interest in that, too, but forced myself to continue. Woot!

I have no grand plans right now. No great news or happy thoughts. I was offline for a long time. Can you believe that shit? I didn’t so much as pop in to read some of my favorite time-wasting sites. I’ve done that today, though. Boy, oh, boy, nothing has changed with them. You’ve got “writers” who are complaining because their clients “demand” they use proper grammar (the horror!) and bitch because their pay is cut. Then you have the politicos who are still fighting against each other– even as the fucking Republicans are planning on cutting the throats of the American people³– and practically joining forces against their own side. Then you have the spammers. Woo hoo! Those are always fun, huh? I thought maybe I was missing something. I was hoping I was missing something. I wasn’t. It’s a little like the intertoobs have come to a standstill. What’s up with that?

I’ve been in a flare for 4 weeks straight. I’m exhausted from it. I’ve given away all of my work shifts for the next week. Hopefully I’ll feel a little better after that. This fucking FMS is a slick bastard. Three months I go without a big flare. Now I’ve been in one for the longest period since I’ve been diagnosed. Stress from this and that plus the weather make for a really sick Jinxi. And, yes, that’s a whine. The other day I was talking with The Mother⁴ and she wanted to know why I was in a bad mood. I told her it was because I was in pain and she says to me “Well, this weather is depressing and depression can cause that.” I was soooo pissed. I’ve told her before that I hate it when someone insinuates my illness is all in my head⁵. Anyway, I was pissed. So I said “Noooo⁶, I’m in pain because of this thing called fibromyalgia.” Dur. Guess her kidney failure is all in her head and if she gets in a good mood then it’ll all go away. ARGH! Oh! The point of all that is that she actually had the nerve to tell me to quit whining because other people have a worse life than mine. So, I said– in the most cold-hearted way I could think of– that she was right but that I hope when I’m 58 I’m not living off my kids because I failed at life. Oops. My bad.

So, anyway, I was thinking about not even publishing this. I guess I’m going to let it sit for a while and then decide. That “writer” to whom I was referring really grates my nerves and I was thinking about ranting about that. This chick swears that ellipses are used just like emdashes– where you would use a dash you would instead use 4 “dots” (Ha! Dots…Ha!). I’m not even registered with this particular site, so I wasn’t arguing with her. I just rolled my eyes until they popped right out of my skull. Another “writer” makes a new line for every single one of her sentences. Huh? That’s hard to read. Another one has decided that paragraphs should be no more than 50 words long.

This, of course, makes me feel like a superior “writer” (though I’m really not and I know this). But then I realize these “writing” sites are just keyword farms and nothing to get excited over. Alternatively, they’re places where people can make up their own grammar and spelling words can get something posted online⁷ and call it “published”. Mwahaha! Hi-lar-i-ous.

What?

1. No, I didn’t tell anyone. So far, though, no one has noticed my absence, so I guess that’s ok too.
2. I’m working on this with a professional at the current time. That won’t last though because, as you probably know, insurance doesn’t pay for that sort of thing.
3. I cried when I heard about Arizona cutting funding for Medicaid patients getting organ transplant– that’s been reversed after 2 people died.
4. I don’t know why I even bother with that bitch.
5. Or, as in one case, a condition made up by the pharmaceutical companies/doctors so they could sell more medications.
6. and I dragged the word out for extra added emphasis
7. Hey! I’m online! Imagine that!

I started flaring again last night. I haven’t had a real flare since about June, I think. They call that “remission” even for FMS. I was doing well, though, for most of the day. I was busy trying to distract myself from the pain. I put on ginormous pants and a comfy t-shirt– no bra, though, because my FMS mostly manifests in my back¹ and the pressure from the straps is too much — and lounged around the house all day. I messed up by doing my hair, though. Too much time with my arms up didn’t sit too well with my shoulders. So, they stiffened up and rebelled. Still, I did my best to soldier on. I so don’t want this shit to interfere with my life, as fucked up as that life is.

The Mother came. Goddamn, but that woman can stress me out in 3 seconds flat. She wanted to go down to Goodwill² to find Little Sis some t-shirts. She got Lil’lady all hyped to go for the $1 stuff, so I had to go. Well, then I had to drive because The Mother was just too tired. I figured it would be ok, even though I should fucking know better. But I forgot since I was in remission for so long.

Bad, bad, double bad move. I found a couple of shirts for Lil’lady right off the bat. I was ready to go. But The Mother spent another hour browsing. I went out to the car for a little bit and that’s when it hit. My sweater felt like it gained about 50 lbs and my t-shirt felt like it was made of wool. My belt was too tight. And someone was kicking the shit out of my back. I’d stepped over that little line that says “Too far! Stop now!” Fuck. I went back inside to get this crazy heifer and couldn’t even carry my purse on my shoulder. It was too much pressure. Welcome back, Ginormous Flares. Welcome the fuck back.

I’ve had little flares throughout the summer, of course. But nothing debilitating. I managed just fine. Shoot, I could even stand getting a back rub³. I don’t know if it was because of the weather⁴ or because I was just so damned happy for 2 months. Either way I was doing fine. My clothes didn’t hurt, getting touched didn’t hurt, I could get comfortable just about anywhere. It was awesome. I knew I wasn’t cured, but I was living it up and the FMS didn’t bother that.

Now, the shit has hit the fan and everything’s all messed up plus the weather’s turned cold. I’m not happy anymore and I’m stressing out a lot more. Perfect conditions for that FMS storm that was just waiting for the right time to strike. The Mother’s bipolar insanity certainly didn’t help matters. She threw a fucking fit in the drug store and we had a little fight. It was like someone was taking every muscle in my back and wringing it dry. I didn’t even wait to get out of the store before I was popping the meds I was in there to get. By the time I got home I could barely walk in the house. I don’t know if it was the frustration or the pain, but I just broke down. This was not a mood swing either, folks. I am absolutely miserable. Those were tears of pain and frustration. And then Lil’ Miss texted me.

“Can you take my dude back to Cleveland tomorrow morning?”

Goddamn it! Her dude has to be at work in the morning and he has no way to get back up to Cleveland. And remember when I said I’d hack off my own arm if someone needed it? Well, yeah. Here I did it again. Of course I can’t leave him stranded. So, I said yes. After I take Lil’lady to school tomorrow I’ll hop my happy ass in the car and drive to fucking Cleveland– an hour there and an hour back. Then I’ll have to go to work for 7 hours. And when I get home tomorrow night I will cry. Not because of a mood swing but because the pain will be off the fucking charts. More stress. More muscle wringing. Why, dear gods, can’t I just say “Too bad, so sad”?⁵

Well, now the pain is over 12 on the pain scale. You know they measure that from 1-10, don’t you? Yeah. It’s bad. I’ve already taken two pain pills and a muscle relaxer and am getting no relief. There’s only one thing that helps. And that’s the muscle cream. The kind that starts out cold then gets hot then gets cold again. Those sensations help the pain. I don’t know why, but it’s true. And there’s only one way I can get that damned cream on my back: TheMan.

Boy, I certainly didn’t want to ask him to touch me. I wanted anyone else to do it. But who else is there? Lil’lady can’t do it because it will burn her fingers. Plus she’d not have been able to get it all over. I can’t get it all the way down my spinal column by myself. And Dude, well, just isn’t available for that sort of thing⁶. Sometimes, though, when you’re being tortured you do what you don’t want to do. You give in to the pain to find some kind of relief. Right?

He put it on for me. He didn’t really touch me much. Just used his fingertips and kind of smeared it around. That was fine. I was both relieved and surprised that he didn’t try anything else considering his behavior recently, but I wasn’t complaining. I was embarrassed and frustrated and ready to cry again. But I was also grateful, because he still was willing to take care of me when no one else would. Even after everything this summer, knowing that I was with someone else late at night, knowing that I want this marriage over, he didn’t even blink when I asked him. He just got the cream and did it.

Goddamn it.

I need a lot more from him than he’s willing to give. I think I laid out my case pretty well in previous posts. But who else is going to help put that damned cream on my back when the pain is so bad I can’t even walk right? Right now, while I’m in this flare, that’s a pretty important job. I could probably suffer through it. Afterall, I know it’s not going to last forever and I know that it’s not going to kill me. Late at night, though, when I don’t have to put on a brave face, I don’t want to suffer through this alone. I am not that strong. I am a mess right now and no one else knows how bad it gets for me. I have no one else to turn to when I’m like this. I certainly have no one that’s actually going to volunteer to rub me down with old folks’ cream⁷.

I mean, really, who wants to hear someone whine about their pain levels? No one that I know personally. I don’t blame them. I can’t describe the pain and they can’t do anything about it. That’s what support groups and blogs are for. Don’t need to put all that shit on other people anyway. Especially healthy people. I’m sure some people actually care that I’m in extreme pain, but they have no idea how to deal with it. And I’m not going to let them see me like this anyway. He can see me like this. He’s seen me like this a hundred times. I’ve made him read the literature. I’ve made him talk to my doctor. I don’t have to be strong about this fucking disease in front of him. That really pisses me off. Why is he the only one that can help me when I’m like this?

The cream helps, though. It doesn’t take the pain away, but it feels good. It’s almost like getting a back rub when you’re all stiff and sore. Except I can’t handle being touched right now, so a back rub would be bad for me. That stinky cream is a godsend for me. It’s amazing the way it takes that edge off just right⁸. I went through a lot of that stuff last winter. I even put it on before work one time⁹. So, it is part of my treatment plan, which means someone has to apply it to places I can’t reach. That sucks when that means the one person you don’t want to touch you has to touch you.

If I could meet someone who would willingly take care of me like that, make me feel the way Dude makes me feel and would be emotionally available I think I would be happy. At least until I had a mood swing. Then all bets are off.

1. I have all 18 tenderpoints and full spinal involvement, says my doctor.
2. We’re saving money here and helping a good cause, don’t ya know.
3. Which is actually amazing considering how bad that stuff normally hurts.
4. Though the summer of ’09 wasn’t so great.
5. Because of parental guilt about the way Lil’ Miss was raised. That’s why. I can’t get over that fucking guilt.
6. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me right now anyway.
7. That’s what I call it.
8. The hypersensitivity, I think. When something feel good to a normal person it feels amazing to me. This applies to everything from soft clothes to erotic sensations. The good with the bad and all that jazz.
9. One of the girls I work with, though, gets sick from the smell. I couldn’t do that again.