I'm having the sort of day I wish those asshats at the Social Security Administration (hereinafter "SSA") could see. I cannot get out of bed; hell, it took me a half hour to f**king sit up. I told Robert to go ahead and have his breakfast without me. I figure if I start now, I might be able to get dressed and ready for lunch at Bonsai Sushi, but there is no way I am going to make it to breakfast. Not that I could eat anyhow.
Look, I am always in pain, the only thing that changes is the level. On a really "good" day, I suppose I'm around a 3; most days I don't go below a 6 or 7. Today can't be measured in numbers and my left arm is practically useless from the junction with the neck all the way down. Let's hope the Advil works because if I have to give in and take a Mobic (Meloxicam) or Robaxin (Methocarbomal), I'm going to be knocked out for the count. (But hey, SSA, of course I'm able to get up and dressed in a suit and pantyhose, and report to court in a timely fashion for a grueling day with Judge Nasty, slogging through judicial reviews I was unable to prepare for because my head doesn't work any more, on any day.)
I used to hate when people finished my sentences for me, but now I am profoundly grateful. That's fibromyalgia.
Now the cruise - yesterday we heard from Jaime Dee, the delightfully hyperactive, highly competent cruise director, that the weather was so bad that today's stop at Half Moon Cay was going to be cancelled. Can't run the tenders from the ship to island shore with the rain, wind, and high waves, so everyone please enjoy another fun day at sea. Hey, it happens. Unfortunately, the weather for both our recent cruises has been for sh*t, but considerably better than that cruise where we missed docking at two of the scheduled stops (including Key West, damn it), then sailed in circles for an extra day to give Hurricane Sandy a chance to get ahead of us. We literally followed that evil windy bitch at least as far as Brevard County, after which she headed north and destroyed my old neighborhood - all of them. Bitch.
I don't plan on voting for Ted Cruz under any circumstances; I have to admit he has conducted himself in quite the savvy manner on the campaign trail, but never more so than when he responded to Donald Trump on the fake "birther" issue, and Cruz's eligibility to become President.
That's What Ted Said: Yes, that's my sweetheart Henry Winkler, "jumping the shark." Which I think sums up The Donald's campaign at so many levels, but only time will tell if the American electorate really has 2 brain cells to share among the whole bunch.
Ted Cruz is legally entitled to be sworn in as President of the United States (Yeah I read the Constitution unlike most members of Congress - what the hell were they doing in law school - running for student government and skipping Con Law?) Anyone who makes an issue about this is a f*cking idiot, I mean misinformed and misguided. You know what I mean. Let's stick to the issues; I didn't care about Bill Clinton's sexual peccadillos while he was in office and I sure as hell don't care about them now, any more than I care about The Donald's third wife posing provocatively, dressed in nothing but her shoes and a smile. Third Wife, First Lady? No indeed, let's not go there.
The Advil has blessedly taken the edge off of the pain, which means I will be able to get dressed for lunch at Bonsai Sushi, and knit, and do some mandala coloring, and knit.
But first, a message from Our Sponsor:
Yeah, that Advil gave me about an hour of mobility before starting to fade so trying to get dressed was a really crappy experience. Creeping down to the little sushi restaurant was even worse. Sitting on the high chair had me practically in tears. My hands had problems working sufficiently to free the edamame from their pods.
Pain governs my life. Every moment, every movement, every thought is wrapped in that unpleasant reality. This is my new normal. Double f*ck and a healthy dose of damn-it-all-to-hell. I'm neither brave nor gracious about this. Cheerful words and aspirational memes just piss me off. If anyone (or any government agency) thinks I wouldn't rather be back at my job than live like this, they can go screw themselves. That includes the idiot doctor who told me "I can't say you're permanently disabled just because you don't want to work anymore." If my memory was better, and I could remember which idiot doctor it was, I would fire his or her ass. Of course the frakking government has doctors terrified to state that their patient is permanently disabled, under penalty of something bad. One doctor was practically in tears, whining "I could lose my license!" For what? Telling the truth?
But now I am back in the stateroom and I feel safe. I can take more Advil or even go to hell with myself and pop a Robaxin, which will knock me out. What the hell - I'm not going anywhere fast, or even slow.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled program:
Right after the first of the year, I finished the little knitted shawl I'd been working on since the end of 2014. I hadn't time to block it, so that's its fraternal twin I brought along to wear on the cruise. For 2016 I'd made no resolutions (except to continue my tai chi) but I had made a promise to myself to knit more. Knitting is soothing except when I'm too upset to pick up a set of needles, which describes all of last year. But like the tai chi, it is something I need to do for myself. Several years back I decided that I was no longer knitting because I had to make something for someone. Most people neither understand nor appreciate a hand knit (or crocheted) gift, but beyond that, I decided I was not going to subject myself to deadlines or obligations. I no longer knit sweaters because I hate knitting sweaters. I no longer knit any really large projects that can't be done in smaller pieces that are then crocheted together, because I'm a post-menopausal woman living in bloody freaking Florida and I can't stand to wear turtlenecks, much less several pounds of wool draped over my lap and legs. Between the itching and sweating, I would definitely incline towards some act of violence. This is probably why I have so much trouble finishing log cabin afghans, as much as I love them.
I almost exclusively knit socks, indoor scarves, and shawls now, using lighter yarns and smaller needles. I only wear knitted socks, so there is always a need. I took some unfinished projects - 2 pairs of socks and one scarf - along for the trip, knowing full well I would be lucky to finish just one of them. While I don't think I'm going to get lucky, I have managed to make considerable progress on a pair of what the Yarn Harlot calls "plain vanilla" socks, which I'm knitting Hand Painted Knitting Yarn, no color name nor number, which I bought at The Yarn Mart in Little Rock, Arkansas.
What makes the pattern "plain vanilla" is that there is no pattern for lace or ripples or bobbles or cables. All you do is knit in stockinette and since socks are knit in the round, you don't have to purl. Just knit. Keep calm and just knit. And that's my advice today, along with "read the Constitution for yourself."
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