Swimming through concrete.

That’s what is feels like.  I wake up and getting moving is like swimming through concrete.  Everything hurts.  Especially today.  Today the body that withstood my car being hit by a tow truck with relative aplomb is screaming.  My right shoulder aches whether I move or not, my head pounds and throbs with my heartbeat. My fingers and hands ache. My freaking eyes ache.

Today is a day when I wish I could just give up and sleep forever.

But no. For some unknown reason my family is made up of people who can’t seem to give up, regardless of how tempted they are to do so.  Today I wish I could give up.  Crawl into bed, take too many drugs, sleep forever, pain gone.  It sounds easy.

I can’t do it.

It’s not the children, it’s not my family, it’s not my friends.  When every cell in my body seems to be out to punish me for something I am not thinking thoughts like “everyone will be so sad”.  I can’t give up because something within me tells me to get the hell up.  It’s this inner cheerleader/dominatrix that encourages/beats my spirits into a state where I can get moving about my day.

Some days this inner me is cheerful:  “Get moving! You will feel better! Get out into the sunshine!”  Other days she is just mean: “Get your lazy ass out of bed. So you hurt, boo hoo, you don’t have cancer, you aren’t dying in child birth, you have modern plumbing. Get up or you will pay.” Then she cracks a whip and scares me out of bed.

I suppose this genetic tendency towards survival is a positive thing.  It’s probably why I am writing this post instead of sobbing like a maniac right now.  I am trying to get into the doctor to get more medication for the shoulder and they are booked until tomorrow.  I love how cheerful receptionists are when they basically tell you “I am so sorry your arm feels as though it is on fire, you take care for another 24 hours now ok?” Ugh.

So now I can breathe my way through a day of shoulder fire and headache madness.  I will watch Pride and Prejudice, lose myself in the relatively simply yet desperate life of the Bennett sisters, and pray that time passes quickly.

 

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One thought on “Swimming through concrete.”

  1. In the immortal words of Crash Davis, “Fuck this fucking game.” But I appreciate your inner cheerleader/dominatrix, and I love your legwarmer thingie. This has been a weird Monday, even by our standards. Let’s try ice, then heat, then swearing, then ice. Maybe by then it’ll be Tuesday.

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