When I’m standing on the couch, I am not taller than CSP—I swear I am not abnormally short, and he doesn’t seem that abnormally tall to me, but I’d prefer it if we assume he’s the abnormal one in this equation. I do have abnormally long legs for my height (my father is 6’3” and my mother is 5’2”, and I have his legs and her torso), so when standing on the couch, my crotch hits his stomach, so there really is no advantage to all this couch-standing I’ve been doing, other than it is fun to hug him and look him in the eyes. Otherwise, without the couch’s help, I’m generally just making friendly with his sternum.
Yesterday, during the final night of the Eight Days of JD (basically a really long birthday celebration, which I will indulge when it is someone’s 40th), I was stuck in between two separate, annoying, conversations. To the right I had two ladies discussing kinesiology studies, and to the left I had three men discussing sports. Unfortunately, because I am so desperately broke, I was not drinking, and sucking back water was not making the situation any better. There’s only so many special places in my head I can visit to avoid dealing with the reality of the situation.
What wasn’t helping was how my uterus felt (and still feels) like it was planning its great escape through my vagina, and finding out that someone close to me has Parkinson’s. This revelation was weighing so heavily on me. I was sitting there squeezing my brain in to all sorts of contortions to avoid hearing about rising before the sun to go running, and blah blah blah football blah blah blah, and all I could keep doing was bumping in to the fact that this person whom I care for so much has Parkinson’s, and what does that mean? Five, ten years of a good life left? That is pure motherfucking donkey-tit goat-sucking hairy horse balls bullshit. So, I was a moody bitch at a restaurant last night, and could barely bring myself to play nice during dull conversations. I ate the shit out of some chips and salsa, though.
Today my uterus came a bit closer to obtaining its freedom. I spent most of the day clutching at my stomach and moaning. Sometimes I clutched at my cheeks and moaned, since my allergies seem to be in collusion with my womb. CSP and I finished Skins season four, and oh my god, what the fuck was that about? Those last two episodes made me cringe, and seriously, what the fuck? It was just so damn silly. Then we made our way over to DJ M’s house for a Settlers of Catan smackdown. It was an intense game with six of us and Earl, a spazzy Boston terrier who kept humping the menfolk, and eating various pieces of the game (including my Longest Road card). Between desperate pleas for wood, there were boisterous demands to dominate Earl (this didn’t seem to work, and I suspect it just made his red rocket even harder). I successfully won the game even with all the distractions (so much sandwich making kept happening!), and came home hoping my tampon sentry had done its job. I said goodbye to CSP, and instantly set about doing chores (full of the joy of victory, I had the energy necessary to sweep and dye my hair, which was made more difficult than usual by an eager kitten helper).
Now to finish my night with some Parking Wars. My teeth hurt. All my body parts are rioting. Bastards.
1 comment:
One of my friend's dad has Parkison's and has had it for more than 12 years and he is still doing really well. He had an electric magnet put in his brain and it has worked really, really well. So yes, it sucks, but the advances have been huge.
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