I went to see a great Sir Paul tribute band last night, The McCartney Project, at the fairgrounds. I haven’t gone to the fair in a few years now because of my issues with walking, but I figured that all I had to do was get to the grandstand, and sit.

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I really enjoyed it, a kind of appetizer for seeing the real Sir Paul this upcoming Wednesday in downtown Cleveland.

After the performance, my friend Cheryl and I began our trek back to the car.

We soon had to sit on a bench to rest. My left hip was hurting so badly, and I was visibly limping with every step that I took. I always feel like people are watching me.

We sat for a few, then started on our way again.

We finally got to the parking lot, and I stopped, (I lost track of how many times) wondering if I was going to make it.

I looked up into the night sky, and said out loud, “Why?”

No answer.

I sighed, and trudged on. I prayed that I wouldn’t lose my balance, and fall on my ass into a mud puddle. My legs always feel like they are filled with lead, heavy, and useless.

“You know,” I said to my friend, (the only person I do things with anymore) “I used to be able to walk the fairgrounds for hours without any problem.”

“Yeah,” she said, with tons of understanding. She digs it, she has chronic pain too.

We made it to the car finally, and I sat down with an audible sound of relief.

You know, I wasn’t going to write about this. I have written post after post about how having fibromyalgia has impacted my life. I don’t do it for pity, or to make people feel sorry for me. I do it mostly to just purge it from my system, to aid in the grieving process.

Last night, it really hit me hard like a ton of bricks. My legs are weak, shaky, and after a couple of minutes of walking feel as stable as jello.

Painful jello.

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