Bum bootie

Oh, y’all. It has been a helluva month. You know the whole story of looking for work, juggling multiple offers, a surprise “no thanks, you can go now” when I gave my notice at my contract position, throw in some blast-from-the-past internet bullying, out of control eating and then this:

two Saturdays ago: I’ll try to work out. Ouch. Ouch. I shouldn’t do this. <leaves crossfit early>
Sunday-Wednesday: time off. Still ouch. Now my left shoulder hurts. Weird. Worked late every night, no lunch breaks. Sit, sit, sit.
Thursday: Enough time off. Let’s WOD! Oh wait, let’s work until 7pm and then the gym is closed.
Friday: <Flies to Delaware via Baltimore for one of my very best friends’ bachelorette party.> I’ve only been looking forward to this since May. Ouch. I know, I’ll use a softball to roll out the kink in my left shoulder! (no lacrosse balls floating around)
Saturday: Ouch. More softball rolling. Some stretching. Lounging by the pool with bachelorette and friends. Ouch. More stretching. Ibuprofen like whoa. And, oh, hey, menstrual cycle! Great timing!
Saturday night: Woohoo! Bachelorette dinner! Ouch. This 800 mg of ibuprofen ain’t cutting it.
As designated driver, I insist we stop at CVS on the way to the bar to pick up some Icy Hot and pain patches. <proceeds to make car smell like old man>
In bar, hope no one smells me, sip water. Ouch. I’ll try sitting! Ouch. I’ll try standing! Ouch. <goes to car for more ibuprofen>
I can’t do this. I’m just going to text and say I’ll pick them up at the end of the night. This HURTS. Like, worst hurt since I dunno what. <texts friends, drives back to beach house>
Sunday, early am: Well, I hope the cab wasn’t too expensive because I couldn’t get up to go get them. Now my ibuprofen has worn off. The muscles around my left ribs are spasming so hard I can actually see them. Oh shit, I can’t get out of bed. I might cry. . Oh shit, she’s not getting up. Big girl panties, Deb
Sunday, 9 am: <Has friends drive me around looking for urgent care. Can’t drive myself. >Potholes are the devil.
Sunday, 1pm: Finally finds open urgent care. Fills flexaril prescription. Gets knocked the F out; the spasms stop. I send my boss a picture of the doctor’s note saying if I can’t make it through the bachelorette party, it’s safe to say I can’t make it to work.
Sunday, 9pm: Gets WHEELED through the airport because I can’t carry my damn carry on.
Monday: Flexaril cloud. Makes an appt with an orthopedist for Wednesday.
Tuesday: Get Matt to drop me off at work. Lose my job. Get Matt to pick me up. Flexaril.
Wednesday: Appointment. Something about referred pain from a nerve I’ve annoyed in my neck. No vigorous exercise for three weeks . Scrip for more flexaril and some PT. Oh crap, I’m getting that cold a couple of the bachelorette girls had.

Which brings me to now. I still hurt. Not nearly as bad but damn, whatever I did was UGLY. Enough to keep me from going dancing with one of my very best friends. A dancefest I’d been looking forward to for the entire summer. If I skip an hour on my ibuprofen/tylenol regimen, my SI joint burns like I’m trying to iron it out. The shoulder still hurts but no crazy spasms, thankfully.

Oh, what was that? You want me to talk about that little blip on Tuesday? Well, let’s have coffee. The internets ain’t the place for that. For the worried: it’s a good thing.

I don’t know what’s going on, y’all. I had to cancel my Xfit membership today because I literally don’t have the money. I am back to where I was this time last year, looking for work, without a gym. With my health, with my amazing husband, only a two-hour drive from the best family a girl could ask for, and friends who care deeply both near and far. And two doggies who are very excited to spend more time with Mama. Life does not suck.

FREELANCE WRITER FOR HIRE. GREAT REFERENCES.

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