De-motivation

Wishes

I’d cut off my right boob to enjoy some time without a single health problem.  Why the right one?  Fucking fibroids.  I’ve got a HUGE one on the right side, and it turns into a bulging mass of pain around that time of the month.  Which happens to be right now.  I’m sure mentioning this is completely unnecessary, since I’ve talked about murdering or pooping on my husband.  Hormones are awful.

Catching an upper respiratory infection in the middle of summer is also awful.  This is one of the great things about frequenting hospitals.  A person is more likely to pick up every single damn viral thing that goes around and lands other people in the hospital.  Right now it’s just a sore throat and some major sinus pressure and pain, and I hope it doesn’t progress into pneumonia again.  It’s a bummer when that happens.  I have a giant apthous ulcer inside of my left nostril, so I should have known it was a harbinger of doom.  Did you know neosporin smells like maple syrup?  Stick it up your nose and find out!  It makes me crave waffles, so I made some waffles.  I didn’t eat the waffles because my appetite is complete shit.

Having a Crohn’s flare within a Crohn’s flare is really fucking awful.  I’m back on 3 gallons of electrolyte drinks a day, since that’s about how much is coming out of the flipside.  I despise summer.  It needs to take all of the misery and sweaty underboobs/ball sacks far, far away.  Give me snow!  Lots of snow!  Ice, ice, baby.

I’m allowed to shower for real now,  and even though it’s old news I haven’t felt the need to share (Kara can shower!  Whoopty doo!), it’s currently newsworthy because I don’t have the motivation to de-stank.  My CVA dressing gets changed weekly, and it’s water-tight enough, so long as I don’t spray water directly on it I can get my clean on.  Now though?  The water is too hot, no matter how blue it is on the dial.  It’s 90 fucking degrees when it comes out of the faucet.  The hot water hitting my skin gives my entire body fantods.  The blood pools in my feet, my heart rate rockets, I get nauseous, vomit, and pass out.  It’s just nasty, and since it’s more nasty than smelling like a wookie crawling through a sewer pipe, I’ll just use bath wipes and dry shampoo until satan decides quit vacationing on the east coast.

south-park-s10e11c01-satans-super-sweet-16-16x9

This may be one of the few times in my life that I actually enjoy watching Quentin Tarantino movies.

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