So I've been hurting. A lot. First the doctors just said it was the result of my depression, and I bought that. After all, massive depression grabs you by the -- what? I don't have balls, and I don't have ovaries any more. Anyway, it grabs you someplace essential and life-defining and twists and squeezes, and pain and weeping ensue.
But it turns out I'm overdue for my hundred thousand mile tune-up. My knees have gotten so bad I can barely walk, I have a rotator cuff screw up resulting bursitis, tendonitis, frozen shoulder, incredible weakness in the right hand (I can't use my rotatory cutter for quilting and I need one more strip to finish Alex's quilt).
So I bit the bullet and went to Physical Therapy, and I've got exercises to do three times a day (we'll aim for two and be lucky for one). No, actually I've been so aching that I was ready to commit to all that physical work -- anything to be able to move and walk a bit more. And I don't want to end up like my sister, who basically ate herself to death.
Armed with inspiration, I went on to my dentist. Abcess, (hmm, they don't like the spelling of that), That nasty dental thing that's slipped my mind but everyone compares misery to. For $1200 that I don't have. Plus more meds because it's infected.
This is very discouraging to a recovering Depressive. Not to mention the fact that I have so much writing to do each day that I will explode and not get anything done, that my eyes are wonky and need a new prescription, that the carpal tunnel in my left hand is so bad that my fingers are already tingling and I'll probably need the surgery I've avoided so long. Then there's the weird tremor that just showed up.
I tend to blame everything on my weight -- that it's punishment from the grumpy Old Testament God who went around smiting things because I'm fat. But weight has nothing to do with the carpal tunnel, or the abcess, or even the rotator cuff. And if you're going to live a long time (I haven't yet, but I'm staring at it) things are bound to need a tune-up.
But damn, I feel sorry for myself.
I did, however, avoid the homemade desserts at the diner I had lunch in, so that's 20 days without sweets. I realize I slipped when I gave a talk at the South Burlington Library when they served chocolates and tea. I was relatively safe because I don't like chocolate (horrors!) but do like white chocolate. There were three white chocolates, and I scarfed down two of them, but I blame adrenaline and don't consider them a fall from grace. Particularly since the third is in my pocket and I've been ignoring it.
I feel a little bit like Job, though of course I know things could be much much worse. I'm just nibbled to death by ducks. Or as my grandmother used to say (in Danish) it's a slow death to be trampled to death by geese.
Guess you gotta avoid those water-fowl. I wonder what loons do to you?
I'll get the comment section working or die trying. Or actually Mollie will. In the meantime, I guess I gotta do my exercises.