It's been crazy here lately. We're hosting a big party in a couple of days for a friend of mine, and we're down to the wire on time. There are so many issues I would like to jot down some thoughts on (politics, education, friendship, dumb house related issues, podcasts I find interesting), but it's going to have to wait.
My body hurts. I'm exhausted, and the light at the end of the tunnel is three days away, and I'll probably run out of meds before I can get to the doctor. Being in a constant state of pain and exhaustion changes a person. Disclaimer: I'm not prone to suicidal thoughts whatsoever so keep that in mind if you're reading the following (like I've told anybody I even have a blog).
The 90s was a decade of extremes. Many of the changes taking place were more incredible and wonderful than I had dared to dream. Others were devastating, and the pain was crippling. I can remember wanting to live a long life, but, given the constant pain, how was I going to manage it? Age certainly wasn't going to help. Can one even remain sane after such a time? Did I even want to? And what about my husband. He deserved a better, healthier companion than I could ever be. I never, ever sugarcoated my health situation to him. I was straight-up with him as soon as I realized we just might have something really special going on. Hell, my mom spoke with him (behind my back) just to make sure he knew the deal. How she didn't think that I would take care of such a life altering situation on my own was a bit surprising, but she's quite the "Mother Lion," and was just trying to protect me. That being said, she didn't tell me she did it until I had been married for many, many years, (Eric never mentioned it, either). I'm glad I didn't find out right away...
So Boo Hoo, Waaaaaaa, and Poor, Poor Me. I'm done. Gotta run.
My body hurts. I'm exhausted, and the light at the end of the tunnel is three days away, and I'll probably run out of meds before I can get to the doctor. Being in a constant state of pain and exhaustion changes a person. Disclaimer: I'm not prone to suicidal thoughts whatsoever so keep that in mind if you're reading the following (like I've told anybody I even have a blog).
The 90s was a decade of extremes. Many of the changes taking place were more incredible and wonderful than I had dared to dream. Others were devastating, and the pain was crippling. I can remember wanting to live a long life, but, given the constant pain, how was I going to manage it? Age certainly wasn't going to help. Can one even remain sane after such a time? Did I even want to? And what about my husband. He deserved a better, healthier companion than I could ever be. I never, ever sugarcoated my health situation to him. I was straight-up with him as soon as I realized we just might have something really special going on. Hell, my mom spoke with him (behind my back) just to make sure he knew the deal. How she didn't think that I would take care of such a life altering situation on my own was a bit surprising, but she's quite the "Mother Lion," and was just trying to protect me. That being said, she didn't tell me she did it until I had been married for many, many years, (Eric never mentioned it, either). I'm glad I didn't find out right away...
So Boo Hoo, Waaaaaaa, and Poor, Poor Me. I'm done. Gotta run.
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Whether differing or sympathetic, I look forward to your comments on any issues I may post (or an introduced topic), but I really don't want to have to babysit this board. I would appreciate simple courtesy. Thank you!