I’ve been walking around with my chest puffed out like a pissed off turkey while doing battle with the monster who stayed in my house for eleven days. Now that she’s gone, I can finally go back to being my normal, disgusting and deflated self. By disgusting, I mean it’s 3:30, I’m still in my pajamas (per normal Kara protocol) and my gourds are free to flap in the wind (under my shirt, as I’m obviously not a nudist).
I’m reducing my pain medications (I’ll finish up that post later) and it’s interesting to me that I have pain that I was never aware of because while the pain medication reduces the moderate to severe pain, it eradicates the mild pain. Today I noticed that it hurts to breathe deeply and I’m walking more stiff-legged than usual because my leg and hip muscles and joints are sore. This is generally when I’d pop a couple of ibuprofen and call it a day. The only problem is when I admit to a doctor that I’ve taken Advil, it feels like I’m four years old again and being reprimanded for flooding my bookshelf by filling a shoebox with water and baby powder. It was cool. The powder floated on top and looked like seafoam. My toys enjoyed swimming in the powdery-fresh ocean.
Anyhow, ibuprofen is forbidden and has been for….er – about five years. Tylenol is also a no go because my liver enzymes spike in protest even at lower doses. As you may have guessed, the gnarly pain that I’ve been taking the ‘stronger’ stuff for has also gotten worse so I’m back to alternating between heat and ice and not moving around as much. That’s probably a good thing, for now. Not the pain, obviously, but that the pain is forcing me to rest.
It’s nice to have my house back. Now I need to figure out how to bewitch the vacuum cleaner and bedding so I can move back into my bed. She dropped her nasty hairs everywhere. Super fine blonde things that stick to everything like she’s a cat (that may explain her personality somewhat – no offense to amiable kitties). I shed hair by the fistful and my own hair doesn’t bother me unless it gets stuck in my buttcrack. Blech. I’m comfortable with my cooties but not with hers. I don’t want any evidence that she was ever here. Burn the place down! I kid. Maybe.
This coming week will be busier than I’d like. Really, I’d like to do nothing for a while. A month, a year, a decade…the longer, the better. MC and I both have cardio appointments on the same day – mine on Tuesday morning, his in the afternoon. That should be exciting. *yawn*
Today I’m grateful for my spastic intestines.
They have given me an excellent excuse to stay within twenty feet of a toilet.
My entertainer’s hat has been enthusiastically removed and I’m happy to spend the day in the bathroom instead of with you-know-who.
Thanks Crohn’s, you chummy pain-in-the-ass.
Meet Broad bean.
Broad bean is a substantial and substantially insulated legume. Broad bean needs to lose 25 pounds, his doctor says so. Broad bean overheats easily, thanks to his bean blubber. Broad bean wants to keep the house at 68 degrees at night.
Meet String bean.
String bean is a lean bean. String bean needs to gain 25 pounds, her doctor says so. String bean despises heat and she also despises being refrigerated at night. String bean’s ideal 24-hour temperature is a constant 73 degrees.
Broad bean and string bean share a house but sleep in separate pods. There’s a conflict at the beanery that involves a bean sneaking downstairs to adjust the thermostat, then the other bean tiptoes down the stairs to put the thermostat back to its proper setting of 71 so the second floor of the beanery will be a perfect 73.
Broad bean can do this routine all night long without actually waking up. String bean is wide awake and is losing patience.
After string bean’s third trip down the staircase of death, she burst into broad bean’s room, flipped on the light, opened both windows, turned off the light, mumbled a few nasty words, then slammed the door.
String bean found the big brain she has in her tiny bean body. She knew the temperature outside was 62 degrees. Just open a fucking window.
I’ve got problems. I know you’re thinking “no shit…”, but these problems have me convinced that I was once two different creatures who were split in half, then glued together. When combined, this gnarly beast known as a Kara was created.
The right side of my body does not belong to me. My face is not remotely symmetrical, my right leg is longer than my left, I have an extra rib plus one extra long free rib on my right side, my right hip and knee joints are lax, and the right side of my sacrum is fused to the vertebra above it. Nevermind that my right kidney is larger, my right ovary decided to explode, and my right side is where my guts like to disintegrate. I could get into how my boobs are different sizes, but that’s normal for everyone, so I’ve been told.
Either I’m a conjoined twin or I’m an alien.
If I’m an alien hybrid, well, this makes perfect sense! It would explain all of my space dreams and why I was green! As I’ve aged, I’ve become more of a bright white/ashy yellow. Am I morphing into a grayling? Only time will tell.
Proof as old as the internet
Emitting Martha Stewart’s favorite color
“mirror mirror on the wall, do I really have to conquer all?”
I rest my case.
Happy April 1st, Earthlings! 😉