Reality: everything I eat brings down pain. The fabulous heating pad that Brad bought me has become my leach. It goes where I go.
I am in pain 24/7. I wake at night and readjust the heating pad and rock myself back to sleep.
I want to rip my stomach out and flip it through the washing machine.
Send it to the dry cleaners.
Through the car wash??
Then I would give it a stern talking to, shove it back in and tell it to cooperate.
You can imagine my intimidation factor.
There are many weird things going on with my body. It's obviously acting out. Perhaps I haven't been a good host? Maybe I should have taken it to massage therapy.
I wonder if my organs, muscles, blood cells and all other internal operations got together and called a strike. Nope, likely war.
Who is the commander? Who is calling the shots? How do I request a meeting? I clearly need a white flag.
I'd so drop kick any one of them. Right in the face. Cause I'm sure they all have faces.
On a happier note - Happy Birthday to my boy Jagger!!!!
He knew it was his birthday. He walked around this house like he was the shizznitz. Talked about how it was his "special day" every 5 seconds. Looked for attention from his brothers. Wanted cuddles constantly.
Even wore his birthday suit. What a smart ass.