I'm tired. Tired of being exhausted. Tired of hurting. Tired of thinning hair, of my kitchen counter overflowing with meds, of rashy skin, of swollen joints, of chest pain, of lungs that feel like there's a brick sitting at the bottom of each of them.
Seriously, I'm OVER IT.
The unpredictable nature of autoimmune diseases is a major drag. It's the back and forth of it. One day, you feel sort of okay. You're functional.
(Of course, my definition of functional is pretty loose. If I go to work AND cook dinner I feel like a fucking badass. )
And then you wake up and can't get off the couch for more than ten minutes without feeling like you're going to fall down.
(I did NOTHING today. Like ZIP. I wanted to, but I could barely fucking move.)
Things are chaotic at work and I have to put in some extra hours due to a staffing situation and I have mixed feelings about it. But I'll push through it, like always. I wish I had more time to work on some writing projects. I feel like I'm finally getting back on track with my next batch of poems, but it's still going more slowly than I would like.
Benlysta treatment #5 is this week! Things are far from perfect, but I do see a difference. It's definitely been the most effective thing we've tried so far.
Not binge-watching anything particularly awesome, just random crap.
In my dream life I write every day and cook beautiful things like risotto and red velvet cupcakes and my hair always looks good.
Susan Slaviero lives on the cusp of a hellmouth, where she vanquishes evil with poetry and cupcakes. She hopes to someday land a job as either a dog whisperer or a telephone psychic. In the meantime, she writes. She has a fondness for esoterica.