I was so happy yesterday. For whatever reason, my damn back pain had abated to a doable level 2 on the pain scale. I told everyone who inquired (and those who didn’t) that I was happier than a fly on a pile of dog poo about this turn of events.

I was even thinking about writing the makers of Tiger Balm a nice thank you letter.

I had a great session with my therapist, as usual.

I also had a good talk with a great friend about some crazy bullshit drama. I hate drama, it makes my skin fucking itchy. I had perpetrated it though by asking too many questions, which is a personality trait of mine. I like to know how, when and why.

Maybe I should have been a detective?

My husband and I decorated our little Charlie Brown tree. It took us perhaps a half hour altogether. We had finally thrown out our ancient 5 footer last year due to the fact that it had a penchant for leaning to the right.

Our tiny living room now has a recliner, a couch and a loveseat so we don’t have room for a big tree anymore. It was actually my adult daughters idea to get a tabletop one. Mecca had them for $12. Since my daughter is either working, at school or in her room, we decided to decorate minimally this Christmas without her.

It felt really weird but sadly, kids don’t stay little forever.

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Most of this is my grandmothers Christmas stuff from the 1950’s.

My husband made buffalo chicken dip for dinner (you can eat whatever the fuck you want when you’re an adult and don’t have children to feed anymore.) Sadly, he made it too hot for me to eat comfortably. This is the fucking plight of someone who dislikes spicy food who lives with someone who loves it. I swear, most people I know love to scorch their mouths. I don’t get it. When I make the dip, I use a few small dashes of hot sauce.

I should have made the damn dip myself.

I sent the picture of the tree to my daughter while she was at work. She responded with an “aw.”

The old man and I watched some TV together. I had two cups of hot chocolate, because it’s cold outside and I like hot chocolate.

I went to bed around ten o’clock. I had made it through the whole day without popping a pain pill. Holy shit.

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.

My daughter came home and we talked for a few minutes. She had purchased a back scratcher for me on a whim. I used it for a minute while I lay in bed and said thank you.

My lukewarm heart grew 4 sizes.

Fast forward to one o’clock in the morning. I am suddenly having chest pain, upper back pain and stomach pain, all at the same time. I felt like I was ready to fucking burst open, like I was filled with air or something.

Ah ha. My mom’s delicious homemade bean soup from Friday night. I am not supposed to eat legumes, it is Irritable Bowel Syndromes #1 no-no food. Eating them causes all sorts of havoc.

It wasn’t my imagination, I was literally filled with gas.

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What do you do when you’re full of bean gas?

The pressure of this gas really hurts, I’ve had it happen before. It’s also why I can’t drink pop or anything carbonated.

I gave up after a few minutes and went downstairs. I swallowed down a pain pill (damn it) with some Pepto.

Don’t knock it til you try it.

I sat on the edge of my bed and had a cigarette, trying to burp or pass wind. (By the way, my husband sleeps downstairs in his man recliner because his sleep apnea and snoring keeps me awake.)

I messed around on my smart phone until the pain started to dissipate. Then I tried to go back to sleep.

And I am awake by five forty-five in the morning because why the hell not? Add another craptacular night’s sleep to my long list of health related bullshit.

It’s snowing right now and my tummy is making weird noises. I’m frustrated with this damned body of mine. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

I’m tired. No wait, strike that. I am exhausted.

I wonder what today holds for me. Maybe my left eyeball will explode.

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