So, I guess I should check in, huh? You know, I thought I knew from crabby. I thought I had crabby's number, I did. Well, let me tell you something, people... I have entered the Thunderdome of crabbitude. The Grand Crabyon. Mt. Crabbyama. The Great Wall of Crabna.
And you know what? It fucking sucks donkey dicks.
This'll give you an idea how shitty I feel -- I called in sick to work. I can't remember the last time I didn't work when I was sick. Which sucks, by the way, 'cuz I work from home, so it's not like I have an office full of people I'm gonna infect. No, through colds, flus and 'the 'rrhea,' there I sit on my little TV screen... the omnipresent video monkey.
But when I limped my numb-ass legs/feet/arms down that basement staircase on Monday morning, I just couldn't pull it off. I feel like such shit, whether I'm sitting or standing or lying down -- I'm sorry, but I just couldn't fathom writing trivia questions about the similarities between Dr. Spock and Mr. Spock. I didn't go in yesterday, either. Just lied in bed and whined. Today, I worked a bit, but it was painful.
I've gotta figure out what's going on in my nervous system, and quick, or I'm gonna fucking lose my shit completely. And I haven't been sleeping much at all, so my mind is just spinning. At this point, I have no idea what's actually fucked up with my body and what's just a result of lying in bed all night and freaking out about whatever horrendous ailment is plaguing me.
Oh, and fuck you, internet. There's nothing worse than having an unexplained numbing/tingling of your extremities and random pain, and having a fucking wireless laptop sitting next to your bed. The list of potential heinous maladies I might be harboring has grown exponentially. There's all kinds of goodies: the oldies like MS and pinched nerves, and then the new ones, like liver failure, diabetes and chiari! Motherfuckers at Webmd and the Mayoclinic. Dickbags.
The shittiest thing of all is that I'm a fucking pain-in-the-goddamn-ass to live with right now. The poor Old Lady is working overtime to talk me down, comfort me, spend time with the spawnage, buy food -- fucking saint, that woman. And the spawnage -- if I have to say I can't read a book to Miss O or draw with Mr. Z because I feel shitty one more time... it's gonna rip my most-likely-malfunctioning heart clean out.
Luckily, my MRI is NEXT WEEK GODDAMMIT, and the appointment with the fucking neurosurgeon who's gonna interpret it isn't until motherfucking January 8th, so I get to wallow in misery for the entire Xmas holidays!!! That'll fucking rock!!!!
So there, you wanted a post -- that's it. Now I'm gonna down some Advil PM and not get a fucking wink of sleep, while I lie in bed and try to decide between a manual or electric wheelchair.