I've been surreally suspended in Jello since veddy, veddy, veddy early on Monday morning. Not fresh Jello either, but the kind with a rubbery skin on it like a Nerf ball. Sunday: sleep oddly as needed during the day to deal with pain and fatigue. Indulge fits of productivity and be grateful as hell for them. Result: ready for bed at exactly 6:00 a.m. on Monday morning. Not perfect. Not the first time, either. Reality: wake up at 9:00 a.m. on Monday morning to drive to methotrexate shot. Hyper-consume caffeine, steroids, and Plaquenil in a huff before dodging to the car without a brush or comb ever greeting my hair. Yes, seriously, and can I get an "oh freakin' well"? My regular nurse says, "You look beautiful," anyhow. Stay wired through the afternoon. Crash, and consequently screw up my metabolism's expectation of its next 3 drugs. Feel my head start to pull and separate into a big bubble that trails like a helium balloon bobbing toward heaven. Tuesday: wobble, bobble, and generally splat and squish my way from bed to the kitchen for COFFEE, where my body simpered and tugged at me, "Ummmm, steroids? Now steroids? Can have steroids now? How about now?" I'm not quite connected to the world, and I have only hit one, exactly one, thing on my to-do list (oh, this isn't it). Knuckles and knees: no swelling, no redness. Nausea: not so awful, not fabulous, improving as I stuff down plain rice with a spoon, but really, it would go so much better with a plunger if only my jaw had full-extension hinges. Guess who has a bunch of writing she hasn't finished and even more laundry? Guess who will refuse to do all dishes today?
Photo credit: "More jello," by xetark on flickr (click on photo for direct link and more work by this artist). Permission obtained for use.