I haven’t been feeling well these last couple of days. I was even too sick to blog, although I did attempt to stay current on reading posts. Thank goodness I have my iPhone, because I couldn’t even sit upright long enough to get on my laptop.

I took a lot of naps and spent many hours on the couch doing absolutely nothing. I used every bit of my energy Saturday morning to go see my therapist, but it went by in a blur. I don’t even really remember what we talked about. I do recall bitching that I didn’t have any weed, which I do tend to get obsessive about.

After seeing her, I was somehow able to go to the store to pick up a few things. The young man behind the deli counter was way too friendly and tried to start a conversation with me, but I shut that shit down as politely as I could.


I came home and crashed on the couch with my dog Maya, until my husband woke me up and told me to go back to bed where I would be more comfortable.

Once I woke up, it was clear that I wasn’t going to be able to make spaghetti for dinner like I had planned. My husband called in and then picked up Chinese food instead.

Yesterday was even worse. My legs were extra weak and hurt so badly that I wanted to scream foul obscenities. They felt wobbly, like I could have easily fallen on my ass if I wasn’t careful.

We were supposed to go down to Cleveland State for my daughters induction into an honor society, but a few hours before it started, she sent me a text message. (From her bedroom. Technology kicks ass, doesn’t it?)

Hey mom, can you bring me a sandwich? 

True story.

We didn’t have to go, it wasn’t mandatory. She didn’t feel like driving downtown and spending the money to park. (I do think a part of it was because of me being so sickly, to be honest.)

I went upstairs to my room so we could like, you know, actually talk about it.

“You just look like you don’t feel good,” she told me as we both lay on my bed.

“Well, I don’t,” I agreed with her. “But I would have pushed myself to go. I’m extremely proud of you.”

“I know.”

I offered to take her out someplace nice to eat to celebrate her achievement, but she declined. All she wanted to do was order a pizza and watch a few episodes of Ghost Adventures.

So that’s what we did.

I was wide awake at 4 am this morning. I tried to fall back asleep, but all I was able to do was doze for 10 minutes or so at a time. I finally gave up at around 5.

I don’t plan on doing jack shit today. To do anything strenuous would just end up prolonging my fibro flare from hell.

Like my friend Dave said, rest, recover, repeat.

He’s right, of course. It’s the only thing that we fibromites can do.

But damn, it gets really fucking old after a while.