Well Then Let Them Eat Toast

Tuesday was a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day. Or as one of my friend calls them, a "drink heavily or take a long walk off a short pier" kinda day. I was up until 3AM the night before and slept till noon. So I woke up already behind the eight ball. I forced myself to run and do some sun salutations but could not muster up the motivation for a full yoga practice. I knew I was doomed the moment I walked into the living room and saw the mess I have promised Fibro-me will not bother me. But not on Tuesday! No, I started nitpicking everything apart and getting very bent out of shape. At this point I really should have gone back to bed for the day. Wouldn't it be so nice if we could just do that? Then I burnt my toast for the 559th time (my toaster oven really sucks) and was on the phone with my husband when I realized this. I screamed, "I burnt my toast I am hanging up!" into the phone and flung the charred remnants of a slice of bread across my kitchen towards the trash. I made a new piece while my egg got cold and flipped on the TV. Then I proceeded to cry at the end of a documentary about Hugh Hefner. Well clearly something had taken over my body and it was not me!

At that point I decided a shot of horse tranquilizer might be a preemptive step in avoiding a full on meltdown. Okay maybe not that dramatic but I have learned, I don't know it its Fibro or the strokes or just my wiring, that once I get going I will usually escalate my dark cloud into a full-on tantrum if I don't get control of it, and for heavens sakes I just didn't have time for that! Then I piled Yorkie & Porkie in the car and headed out to mom's house for dinner with relatives that have just arrived for the winter. Well I leave my house at 6PM and of course hit traffic. Poor Porkie quickly pukes everywhere because the jolting from the stop and go made her carsick. I look at my cell phone and the battery has about twelve seconds of life left. And then the whopper happens. I am forced out of the lane I needed to merge onto the connector for another freeway. I got so mad at this mean person who would not let me over! So I got off at the next exit. Once I got back on the freeway I realized I had already passed the connector coming from that direction. So I go two exits back in the direction of home and give it another try. And I wish I was kidding here when I tell you the exact same thing happens to me again! Except this time I cannot get in the lane. Once again another very mean person will not let me over. Clearly I have forgotten how to drive in traffic.

I am furious. Waving my hands out the window to please let me over you very very big SUV! But no, they too are incapable of humanity. It seemed intentional, driving the same speed as me in my blind spot for 3/4 of a mile, no matter how fast or slow I went. So I got off the freeway again, turn around and switch my almost dead cell phone on. Crying, I told my mom what happened and I sure wish I could make it but at this point don't have it in me and am going home. I felt robbed. Of my day, my family, my opportunities, my warm egg on a nicely toasted piece of bread. I felt sorry for myself and pouted. But when my husband came home he asked me why I threw burnt toast into the living room. "I didn't!" I said. When I hucked it across the kitchen towards the trash I missed. I guess Porkie, being quite the hunter and gatherer she is, sussed it out. But only a small rounded over corner was gone. My husband starts cracking up as he waves the rock hard petrified piece of wheat in front of my face and tells me I burnt the toast so bad not even the dogs would eat it. Pretty soon I was holding my side and laughing too, because the whole day was just so incredibly...preposterous. 

Thanks for joining,

Leah