HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Remember how I thought two weeks ago was the one of my worst weeks ever?  It got bumped down the list.  I don't want to go into detail, partly because (despite me writing my life on a public blog) I am quite a private person, and partly because I was thankfully unconscious a lot due to extremely strong meds.  After several days at the hospital, I was deemed well enough to go home under the care of one of my sisters, who flew in specifically to help me.

SPOILER:  I am writing this as I sit home alone and unattended for the first time in over a week and feeling better than I've felt since before Christmas.  I had enough spoons today to wash, condition, and style my hair (somewhat, let's not get carried away).

Sixteen days later, I'm almost ready to have a fresh start for a new year.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

ho lee fuk

I have had one of the worst weeks of my life.  So much pain.  Migraines upon migraines.  Pain to the point of my body almost passing out.  Breaking out in sweats.  Vomiting and weakness.   Fatigue and lethargy.  

I've barely been eating because pain is an appetite suppressant for me.  And going downstairs wears me out for a good 30 minutes, therefore I obviously wasn't expending many calories.  Swearing and writhing on the floor in pain in waves must be some type of HIIT exercise though.  I hope so because my current exercise routine went all to hell.

I took two showers sitting down to wash my hair because I had run out of spoons.

Many things ran through my brain during the moments of intense pain, as well as the hours of recuperation each time.  A particularly oblivious person once said to me how nice it must be to lie down so much because of all the thinking time I get.  Pain and suffering tend to slant the line of thinking.  I wondered how many villages I had murdered in a past life to deserve this intensity and duration of pain.  

I listened to many audio books on my 'vacation,' with my phone permanently on Do Not Disturb.  Somehow my cat didn't understand that I couldn't move to accommodate her routine.  So every morning during a respite, I would drag my sorry ass downstairs to take care of her, and usually switch out my icepack.

I had been one of those assholes saying "Fuck 2016," pretending that all my problems would magically disappear from one day to the next because of an arbitrary date.  Denial is lovely.  Until the truth can't be denied.  Fuck you, 2017.  Is it 2018 yet?