Sunday, December 02, 2012

Today is great in lots of ways, except my body is having a FUCK day.  I'm Christmas decorating, listening to Christmas music, eating yummy foods, and hanging out with my Hubby and Girl.  The Boy is at work.  We're heading to Costco, where Hubby and Girl will endeavor to hit every sample table in the joint.

My fucking body cringes at the thought of having to go anywhere other than the motherfucking couch or bed.  My fucking shoulders are screaming, "FUCK YOU!" at the top of their joints.  My hips are fucked and rigid like sheets of fucking glass.  My knees are a concoction of shrapnel and ground glass chunks and sand, so every step is a delightful fucking foray into an abyss of neverending pain.  I will be in another fucking wheelie cart and I'd rather gnaw off my fucking arm.

The fucking clouds are coming in and Mike says a storm is coming.  My fucking barometer of a body apparently fucking agrees.

I was frustrated because I really wanted to take out my fucking nutcrackers and put them places.  I ran out of sugar and started to get fucking cranky telling Genny where to put stuff and took my fucking sugars and realized I was fucking hungry and heading into insulin shock. When Hubby told me to fucking get seconds of soup off the stove, I wanted to cry and scream, "FUCK YOU!" I groaned inwardly, wandered into the kitchen, and got my own fucking seconds.

I have all these fucking things I want to do and my body would rather curl up in a ball on a heating pad, loaded with ibuprofen in semi-safe doses and my motherfucking vibrating neck pillow.

Then, good night, moon.

Fuck you, body.  Fuck you, pain.  Fuck all agony, everyone.