Why am I so incredibly tired? Just effing gone, you know? I got up and made my vocal cordial which was needed. And yes, it takes a couple of hours. But it’s not all that physical. I’m totally knackered, like I came back from a several hours gym visit. Ugh.
We are going backwards. Have you noticed? Saw an ad yesterday for a ‘Booty Booster’. Yes, that’s what it’s called. It’s one of those ‘new’ garments for women that push and shape and shove us into something absolutely unattainable unless you’re wearing that. The one I’m talking about is for your butt. But corsets are back and tummy scrunchers (which are basically corsets) and bras that push and ad and shove so we have cleavage and high heels so there’s no way in HELL we can get away if a time comes for running and… FUCK! Backwards, baby!
Not helping: bonus stuff for Lost. OMG. I had to just stop watching it because it was a bunch of white guys telling themselves and everyone else how fucking brilliant they are and how they shit out such great ideas and blah blah blah. They even left in a comment from one of the show’s creators about ‘how many girls – erm – women we interviewed for Kate’. And they LEFT it like that. What a bunch of assholes.
I was watching the news the other day and was really impressed that a talk show had a female host, three female guests, and one male guest. And then I got disgusted by the fact I was impressed.
One more straw for that straining camel’s back: I had recorded and so watched a film called Children of Men. Which of course was all about that women couldn’t have babies. Not that the men’s sperm was useless. It was a problem with the women. Naturally. And it was all about our wombs. Not us as people, but our wombs. That’s it. That’s all we are.
Fuck you.
This continual irritation and eyes wide open stuff is just getting worse with time, not better. Every damned example makes me all the more disgusted and angry. I’m supposed to be better now, right? My meds got upped, I chilled out to the max. Now it’s like I’m on another downswing and medically I don’t get it. Rationally, emotionally…That’s simple to understand. But medically? Why would I be okay on real low doses of my meds for so long and now when they’re increased it’s like they worked for a couple of months and now I’m back to where I started?
And I’m so. fucking. tired!
T hauled me out of the house yesterday for a meal. His feeling is that we ought to take advantage of all that’s on offer right now because we really don’t know if it will last. And he’s right. We should take advantage while we can. We headed to Markt Hall and just cruised the many food joints in there. The one noodle place we wanted to try had a waiting line outside the restaurant, so we went back to Bab Tuma. Gods! What great food! That’s the second time we’ve eaten there and everything is incredible. Fantastic lentil soup served with fresh lemon and soft bread. Falafel as good as the best I’ve ever had. Oh! And the pide! OMG. The veggie pide is to die for. Now all I want is to go back there.
I am determined to NOT take a week between exercising, but it’s getting close. And I still ache from band rehearsal. See? It doesn’t make sense. It’s not so cold or wet or anything else that my arthritis should be so active. But things just hurt. Like I’m just tired. I do not get it. There is no reason for this. Nothing I can point to and say ‘oh, yes…that makes sense’. And that…ticks me off to no end. I can take all the restrictions of my RA if it’s logical. Oh, I pushed too much yesterday or it’s cold today or the weather is fickle so I ache. But this illogical BS just out the blue? I do not handle that well at all. It’s just suffering for suffering’s sake. I hurt and I’m so tired I can’t pull it together for much and all of that makes me feel real down on myself which isn’t helping anything, either.
Okay. Alright. I give up. You win, Rheumatoid Arthritis. As usual. You play dirty, you know that? You’re a real fucker that I just hate. HATE. So much it goes beyond any hate I’ve ever experienced. I feel weak with hate. So weak that if you were really personified, I don’t think I could kill you. Which is weird, but that’s the level of it. Usually hate for me is an energising, empowering feeling. Not this hate. Not the hate I have for you. It’s almost god-like in its intensity and level and just…totally mixed up everything.
Am I tired? It’s my RA. Do I ache? It’s my RA. Am I grumpy and unsettled? It’s my RA. That’s my answer for everything today: it’s my RA. Why am I cursing so much? It’s my RA. You get the picture.
Time to grind up some super THC. T got some haze in the other week. I usually only add a small bit to my grinder ’cause haze is pretty powerful. I just filled my grinder with haze. Oooooh yeah, that’s a heavy hit. Hope it helps. It should. Or at a minimum, I won’t care so much because I’ll just be that high. But I’ve taken a lot of paracetamol lately and I don’t like it. I’ve taken it every day since band rehearsal. At least once a day. It should be only once in a while. Not every day. And certainly not multiple times every day. So marijuana it is.
Now I just kick back and keep entertained until T comes home. Then we eat and talk and chill together. It would be nice to not be a total bitch when he walks back in the house. There’s another reason to smoke straight haze. T doesn’t deserve me NOT high today. And he’ll totally get my everything answer, too. He’s been the one seeing it up front and personal. In fact, he’s far more accepting of that ‘it’s my RA’ answer than I am.
The time is comin’ for a nap. I can feel it in me. I’ll finish the film I’m half watching and turn to online videos for some entertainment. Then I’ll sleep for a bit. I’ve got some favourite YouTube presenters I like to sleep to. They’re not designed for that, but I find them totally relaxing.
Whatever works, right?