Do you ever see those time-lapse videos where you watch the seasons change, or go from day into night in a matter of seconds? Well, that is kind of how my moods go sometimes. I've had a few moments lately that have been a bit of a wild ride. I think Ass-Kicker broke me and that is what started it all (well recently anyway, I've always been crazy, historically speaking).
Just a week ago, I was in the shower trying to wash my hair when I experienced a pain so powerful that shot down from my shoulder to my arm, that I had to drop it down quickly. I had to finish my hair and shower with one arm. I was crying out in pain and so Shark Bait came in to see if I was okay. I was standing in the shower, tears running down my face, snot running out of my nose faster than I could eat it and I whimpered, "I can't use my arm, my shoulder hurts so bad I can't take it. I'm so tired of being broken..." And that is when the heavy sobbing and "snorking" started. Shark Bait asked what he could do. I got out of the shower and he tried to help me dry off. He's rubbing my hair kind of like he rubs the dogs after a bath. This was a bit much. No wonder the dogs growl and then grab the towel. I mean, I know he doesn't have hair, but this was not the way to go about drying mine. I continued to cry, and then sniffing, which really was more of a snork. So, I'm crying pretty hard, making noises unbecoming of a lady, or a human, for that matter, and then it got really bad. "Oh my God, I sound like a pug dog....I'm a pug dog!!!" I was doing a cry-laugh combo and sniffing/snorking and I couldn't stop. Shark Bait is laughing, but isn't sure if he should be, because he isn't sure which emotion is over-riding the other. I went on, with all the drama that an academy award winning actress could muster, "I'm just...<hiccup>...<snork>...a pug dog...a stupid, broken, pug dog...what if I get fleas? I won't even be able to reach my ass to scratch it...and then I'll get hot spots. How am I supposed to care for myself?" The drama continued for some time as I made it upstairs and flailed onto the bed and continued to laugh-cry and contemplate life as a pug dog. It was probably the most epic melt-down I've ever had.
I finally regained composure and Shark Bait took me to the walk-in clinic. I saw Dr. McDreamy and he gave me a prescription for Percoset. I started to cry and told him I just wanted to be healthy, I just wanted to work out and get strong and healthy. He looked at me and said, "Every athlete has setbacks, this is just a setback, don't give up." Now, I've been called a lot of things, but never an athlete. I didn't know what to make of it. Are Sumo wrestler's athletes? Maybe that is what he was getting at.... Anyway, I knew I would go home, take some pills, and have a unicorn ride and that would get me through until the swelling could be controlled. I spent the next couple of days pretty well out of it. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...but mostly the best.
As the week progressed, the swelling in my shoulder seemed to get under control. Now it was time to focus on my hips. I had waited for a month to see the specialist about my hips. I go in and he does the flexibility and mobility tests. Hurt like a Mo-Fo, for the record. He says to me, "We need to get those hips x-ray'd. I need to be honest with you, I'm not looking forward to what I am going to see. I believe you have severe arthritis in your hips and you are so young to have a hip replacement. I don't think it is cancer." WHAT?! Cancer? I hadn't even thought of that? Holy shit! I sat there acting all calm on the outside, but was freaking out on the inside. I'm supposed to email him when I get the x-ray done and he will check it out and let me know what the next step is. I'd like to say I'm remaining optimistic, but I think we know better.
As I left the appointment, I called Shark Bait and told him the news. Remember that time-lapse mood swing I mentioned before? Yeah, I went from telling him we were waiting to see what the x-rays said to me selling my horses, never riding again, being in a wheel chair, losing all my limbs and waiting to die as Blob White. It wasn't pretty.
So, that is where I am. I can't really workout until we know what is going on in my hips and then I see the Orthopedic doctor tomorrow about my shoulder. I'm a hot freaking mess. I should just have them change all my stuff out to bionic parts. Or, just cut off all my limbs and I'll be Blob White, or in the blogging world, Blob the Blogger. Angry Blob. Blob Pony. You can call me Blob for short. I'll be short. I'll look like a potato. Shark Bait can carry me around in a back pack. I'll wear Depends, although, I don't know how I will keep them on since I won't have legs. The pee will just ooze out the leg holes and don't get me started about where the poop will go. He'll have to put me in a Hefty trash bag so he can just pull me out, rinse and then put me in a fresh sack. They have those ones that come with Febreeze now. I'll have to train my boobs to act as arms, but I suspect they will be incapable. All those years of having Victoria Secret do all the work for them. Lazy sacks of cellulite that they are. Go ahead, cut those off too. Who needs them? Not like I'm going to be seducing Shark Bait as the Blob.
So, I'm not saying that is going to happen, but I'm not saying it isn't. We don't know. Life is a crap shoot. But, it is weighing heavy on my mind. You might say I'm on edge. So, when people attack me in the morning over stupid things, or don't read emails that I've sent that explain them, it makes me kind of crazy. When I see things that don't make any sense at all, like the Out of Order sign in the bathroom, I just don't know if I can go on. I mean, seriously, ladies, if the toilet seat is busted on the toilet, do you really need an Out of Order sign to keep you out? Did they really need to lock it? Was someone going to go in there and sit on the broken seat? Would they not notice that a large section of the seat was broken or missing? Would they end up with a chunk of toilet seat wedged up their crack? Is the sign necessary?! Based on some of the stuff that I see on a daily basis, I guess I know the answer. In my heart I know it is necessary.
I just don't understand life, why is it so hard? I just want to be healthy. I just want to go into stall number one and not find that the Fire Hydrant Vagina Bandit has been there. I just want one day to go by without having to hear about how the water is a reddish brown color in the toilets, or how they are plugged and ready to blow. I don't want to hear that Balloon Boy is the envy of the entire Glass Palace because I bestowed upon him a big-ass balloon and why would I give him such a balloon? Maybe I wanted Balloon Boy to have it. Maybe I went rogue with the helium, which is in short supply. Maybe I did, so what? When I'm a blob, I won't be able to work the tank anymore. Give me this one thing. This one pleasure before life removes all my limbs. I don't want to hear about the caterpillars outside sucking the very life from all the trees. For the love of GOD, what the fuck am I supposed to do about the mother trucking caterpillars. Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a scientist!!! (or however that goes, I'm not a Trekie). And, yet, people want me to care for all things related to the Glass Palace and the grounds that surround it. Look, I can't make people park in the right spot, or park straight, or keep them from picking poisonous mushrooms, or making poo animals on the bathroom stalls. I can't stop the air vent from being too hot one day and too cold the next. I can't stop people from asking stupid questions. I can't stop the radio from playing that fucking song called "Happy." I can't. My powers are limited.
Okay, I kind of got side-tracked there. What was the question? More importantly, what is the answer? Oh yeah, why is life so hard? The answer is, because it is. It's like when you are little and you get picked on and you say, "I know you are, but what am I?" in that snotty voice and you just keep repeating it every time you are assaulted by the bully with another mean name. Life is like that, "I know life's hard...but who am I?" And you never have a better answer than the bully who wants to beat you down. You just keep saying it hoping the bully will stop and you can go back to trying to figure out how the skinny girls get on the monkey bars and flip upside down and you want to try it, but you can't get your fat ass up there, so you just play hop scotch, hopefully in peace, without Heidi Vodegle coming and kicking your shins. You just want life to stop throwing out bad things so you can just enjoy it in peace. I think I just talked myself into an analogy corner where life is the bully. Is life a bully? It is supposed to be a blessing. You know how I know? Pinterest. Pinterest tells me that Life isn't about the storm, but rather, how you survive it. Life isn't about the closed door, it's about the open window. Life isn't about the bull, it's about the shit you get on you when you ride the bull. Wait, that last one I never saw on there, but it should be. I'm going to get that put on an e-card. STAT.
Anyhoosle, I think I'm starting to get into some scary territory. I'd better stop, because I can destruct that shit on Pinterest all night long. Hey, if you've got the time, I've got the time. Actually, I don't. I have to get up early to go see a new doctor that tells me all the things that are wrong with my shoulder. And before you start telling me to think positive, I want you to consider what a pug dog has to go through to itch a spot on the top of it's ass. It isn't easy, and I've seen the drama unfold. No one wants to be a snorking pug dog in misery rubbing it's sore ass on the couch to only be told to "knock it off." You think being a pug dog is easy, but it isn't. Go ahead, try and lick the spot between your shoulder blades, bitches. Think positive about that.
I will say this ONE positive thing: Last week I did see a lot of really cute pink onesies for baby girls. If I end up being Blobette White, my wardrobe is going to be fan-freaking-tastic. I'm not too proud to wear a pony bib.
Just a week ago, I was in the shower trying to wash my hair when I experienced a pain so powerful that shot down from my shoulder to my arm, that I had to drop it down quickly. I had to finish my hair and shower with one arm. I was crying out in pain and so Shark Bait came in to see if I was okay. I was standing in the shower, tears running down my face, snot running out of my nose faster than I could eat it and I whimpered, "I can't use my arm, my shoulder hurts so bad I can't take it. I'm so tired of being broken..." And that is when the heavy sobbing and "snorking" started. Shark Bait asked what he could do. I got out of the shower and he tried to help me dry off. He's rubbing my hair kind of like he rubs the dogs after a bath. This was a bit much. No wonder the dogs growl and then grab the towel. I mean, I know he doesn't have hair, but this was not the way to go about drying mine. I continued to cry, and then sniffing, which really was more of a snork. So, I'm crying pretty hard, making noises unbecoming of a lady, or a human, for that matter, and then it got really bad. "Oh my God, I sound like a pug dog....I'm a pug dog!!!" I was doing a cry-laugh combo and sniffing/snorking and I couldn't stop. Shark Bait is laughing, but isn't sure if he should be, because he isn't sure which emotion is over-riding the other. I went on, with all the drama that an academy award winning actress could muster, "I'm just...<hiccup>...<snork>...a pug dog...a stupid, broken, pug dog...what if I get fleas? I won't even be able to reach my ass to scratch it...and then I'll get hot spots. How am I supposed to care for myself?" The drama continued for some time as I made it upstairs and flailed onto the bed and continued to laugh-cry and contemplate life as a pug dog. It was probably the most epic melt-down I've ever had.
I finally regained composure and Shark Bait took me to the walk-in clinic. I saw Dr. McDreamy and he gave me a prescription for Percoset. I started to cry and told him I just wanted to be healthy, I just wanted to work out and get strong and healthy. He looked at me and said, "Every athlete has setbacks, this is just a setback, don't give up." Now, I've been called a lot of things, but never an athlete. I didn't know what to make of it. Are Sumo wrestler's athletes? Maybe that is what he was getting at.... Anyway, I knew I would go home, take some pills, and have a unicorn ride and that would get me through until the swelling could be controlled. I spent the next couple of days pretty well out of it. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...but mostly the best.
As the week progressed, the swelling in my shoulder seemed to get under control. Now it was time to focus on my hips. I had waited for a month to see the specialist about my hips. I go in and he does the flexibility and mobility tests. Hurt like a Mo-Fo, for the record. He says to me, "We need to get those hips x-ray'd. I need to be honest with you, I'm not looking forward to what I am going to see. I believe you have severe arthritis in your hips and you are so young to have a hip replacement. I don't think it is cancer." WHAT?! Cancer? I hadn't even thought of that? Holy shit! I sat there acting all calm on the outside, but was freaking out on the inside. I'm supposed to email him when I get the x-ray done and he will check it out and let me know what the next step is. I'd like to say I'm remaining optimistic, but I think we know better.
As I left the appointment, I called Shark Bait and told him the news. Remember that time-lapse mood swing I mentioned before? Yeah, I went from telling him we were waiting to see what the x-rays said to me selling my horses, never riding again, being in a wheel chair, losing all my limbs and waiting to die as Blob White. It wasn't pretty.
So, that is where I am. I can't really workout until we know what is going on in my hips and then I see the Orthopedic doctor tomorrow about my shoulder. I'm a hot freaking mess. I should just have them change all my stuff out to bionic parts. Or, just cut off all my limbs and I'll be Blob White, or in the blogging world, Blob the Blogger. Angry Blob. Blob Pony. You can call me Blob for short. I'll be short. I'll look like a potato. Shark Bait can carry me around in a back pack. I'll wear Depends, although, I don't know how I will keep them on since I won't have legs. The pee will just ooze out the leg holes and don't get me started about where the poop will go. He'll have to put me in a Hefty trash bag so he can just pull me out, rinse and then put me in a fresh sack. They have those ones that come with Febreeze now. I'll have to train my boobs to act as arms, but I suspect they will be incapable. All those years of having Victoria Secret do all the work for them. Lazy sacks of cellulite that they are. Go ahead, cut those off too. Who needs them? Not like I'm going to be seducing Shark Bait as the Blob.
So, I'm not saying that is going to happen, but I'm not saying it isn't. We don't know. Life is a crap shoot. But, it is weighing heavy on my mind. You might say I'm on edge. So, when people attack me in the morning over stupid things, or don't read emails that I've sent that explain them, it makes me kind of crazy. When I see things that don't make any sense at all, like the Out of Order sign in the bathroom, I just don't know if I can go on. I mean, seriously, ladies, if the toilet seat is busted on the toilet, do you really need an Out of Order sign to keep you out? Did they really need to lock it? Was someone going to go in there and sit on the broken seat? Would they not notice that a large section of the seat was broken or missing? Would they end up with a chunk of toilet seat wedged up their crack? Is the sign necessary?! Based on some of the stuff that I see on a daily basis, I guess I know the answer. In my heart I know it is necessary.
I just don't understand life, why is it so hard? I just want to be healthy. I just want to go into stall number one and not find that the Fire Hydrant Vagina Bandit has been there. I just want one day to go by without having to hear about how the water is a reddish brown color in the toilets, or how they are plugged and ready to blow. I don't want to hear that Balloon Boy is the envy of the entire Glass Palace because I bestowed upon him a big-ass balloon and why would I give him such a balloon? Maybe I wanted Balloon Boy to have it. Maybe I went rogue with the helium, which is in short supply. Maybe I did, so what? When I'm a blob, I won't be able to work the tank anymore. Give me this one thing. This one pleasure before life removes all my limbs. I don't want to hear about the caterpillars outside sucking the very life from all the trees. For the love of GOD, what the fuck am I supposed to do about the mother trucking caterpillars. Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a scientist!!! (or however that goes, I'm not a Trekie). And, yet, people want me to care for all things related to the Glass Palace and the grounds that surround it. Look, I can't make people park in the right spot, or park straight, or keep them from picking poisonous mushrooms, or making poo animals on the bathroom stalls. I can't stop the air vent from being too hot one day and too cold the next. I can't stop people from asking stupid questions. I can't stop the radio from playing that fucking song called "Happy." I can't. My powers are limited.
Okay, I kind of got side-tracked there. What was the question? More importantly, what is the answer? Oh yeah, why is life so hard? The answer is, because it is. It's like when you are little and you get picked on and you say, "I know you are, but what am I?" in that snotty voice and you just keep repeating it every time you are assaulted by the bully with another mean name. Life is like that, "I know life's hard...but who am I?" And you never have a better answer than the bully who wants to beat you down. You just keep saying it hoping the bully will stop and you can go back to trying to figure out how the skinny girls get on the monkey bars and flip upside down and you want to try it, but you can't get your fat ass up there, so you just play hop scotch, hopefully in peace, without Heidi Vodegle coming and kicking your shins. You just want life to stop throwing out bad things so you can just enjoy it in peace. I think I just talked myself into an analogy corner where life is the bully. Is life a bully? It is supposed to be a blessing. You know how I know? Pinterest. Pinterest tells me that Life isn't about the storm, but rather, how you survive it. Life isn't about the closed door, it's about the open window. Life isn't about the bull, it's about the shit you get on you when you ride the bull. Wait, that last one I never saw on there, but it should be. I'm going to get that put on an e-card. STAT.
Anyhoosle, I think I'm starting to get into some scary territory. I'd better stop, because I can destruct that shit on Pinterest all night long. Hey, if you've got the time, I've got the time. Actually, I don't. I have to get up early to go see a new doctor that tells me all the things that are wrong with my shoulder. And before you start telling me to think positive, I want you to consider what a pug dog has to go through to itch a spot on the top of it's ass. It isn't easy, and I've seen the drama unfold. No one wants to be a snorking pug dog in misery rubbing it's sore ass on the couch to only be told to "knock it off." You think being a pug dog is easy, but it isn't. Go ahead, try and lick the spot between your shoulder blades, bitches. Think positive about that.
I will say this ONE positive thing: Last week I did see a lot of really cute pink onesies for baby girls. If I end up being Blobette White, my wardrobe is going to be fan-freaking-tastic. I'm not too proud to wear a pony bib.
You are doing an amazing job! I agree with the doctor. You are an athlete and will recover and move forward.
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