Happy day of the Valentine, lovers!
This morning for Valentine's Day Joel took me down to the hospital so I could get a shot in my ass, and then picked me up a coffee because I am too tired and too stupid to do anything as complicated as make coffee anymore. I went off my thyroid meds a week ago in preparation for my radiation, as as of yesterday I am officially a pile of useless.
They tell you that you'll get fatigued when you're hypothyroid but fatigued is one of thsoe words that doesn't seem to mean anything except I'LL tell you what it means. Ok so say you've spent the morning painting your dining room (especially the ceiling) and then done the Grouse Grind in the afternoon and then come home and collapsed in a chair and then realized that you have to get up to lock the door/let the dog out/get a beer. THAT feeling, that realizing that you have to get up, that is fatigue.
Also, being hypothyroid makes you crazytunes and last time I would have an emotional breakdown every evening at around 5. Friday I felt fine and yesterday morning I felt fine and then I started to get achy and tired and then I tore my sweatpants and then I started to cry, and part of me was watching myself cry over my torn sweatpants and being all, Oh shit, we are at this stage again where I cry over torn sweatpants, and then the part of me that was actually really sad because I'd torn my sweatpants got even sadder because I hate being in this place where I cry over torn sweatpants, and the part that was watching me cry was trying to talk me down from my tree because this is only for a few days but the part of me that was crying was so wrapped up in how fragile my state of mind is now and how torn my sweatpants were that I couldn't seem to hear myself. I felt completely unhinged.
I am now re-hinged, and have come to terms with the fact that I'm not going to get anything useful done in these next two days because besides being fatigued and crazy I'm also incredibly stupid and have had to marshall all of my ganglia to write this one post. I'm going to lie here and watch men's moguls and maybe read some trashy Tudor fiction if I can muster up the wherewithal to hold a book. Merry Feb 14th, amis!
2 comments:
I love you.
My little Cornichon, do not be distressed. Perhaps you should get yourself an officious seeing-eye Bitch that is slightly deranged. It could get your things for you, hold your books, make you tea. It would be like a husband, but without the incessant demand for meatloaf or egg-less french toast. It would nuzzle you and then you'd end up on an episode of House because, really, it had given you a tick which had climbed up into your Nether Regions and was now a toxic IV to your blood stream. You'd have many seizures, or you'd bleed out your anus. House would constantly remind his minions that he doesn't talk to patients because they're LIARS and then come into your room anyways and tell you that you are a liar (which seems redundant after two seasons) and are doing drugs. At this point you'd blurb out something emotionally clever about how life is a bucket of lemons and if you touch a lemon and then rub your eye it can really sting; that SOMETHING would be relevant to the episode. House would thoughtfully bow his head and look up at nothing from beneath his eyebrows as if he was Mr.Constantly-Epiphasizing. Perhaps we could end the episode with the OSEB peeing on his foot and you'd say, "There's that lemon-aid you were looking for!" and we'd come full circle. Life would be normal again. You'd go back to jogging every day and getting your period for 3 months at a time. Flies would still like poop and those "endangered turtles" would still not be in Deer Lake. So you see, C-soeur, it's not about ripping your pants so your anus has a friend - it's about humanity, dignity, how Princess Bride is Everyone's favourite movie. It's about how Canadians put an extra 'u' in certain words so that when they spell something wrong while in the States they can say, "We do it that way because we're CANADIAN." It's about your "Than-Q's" more than your "Twen-T's". It's about how because The Romans like cats so much so no one likes The Romans. It's about keeping Elvis alive so all those trinket stores have something to sell that is bigger than them. It's about taking the F out of "safe" and the F out of "way" and putting them on words starting with "art" or "allopian tube". And that's life, Raych. THAT'S what it's about. Take no prisoners! Yaw Krap! Fini.
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