Holy crap, it really is all good!

I realized yesterday that I haven’t said anything about the fibromyalgia thing since I posted that first oh-my-gawd-I-have-fibromyalgia-everything-hurts-please-don’t-ask-me-to-do-anything-I’m-so-fucking-tired post.

That situation has actually gotten a lot better. I still have days when I can’t get out of bed, but they are becoming more and more rare. Between the treatment protocol we’re following and my grudging ability to stop pushing myself so hard, things have definitely improved. It did take me a while to learn to say to myself, “Okay, I just can’t do this right now” and be alright with it.

Although, with the proper motivation, I can completely forget that I ever had any pain or exhaustion issues. Take, for example, the Green Day show. They played for 2 ½ hours (thanks, guys. That was awesome), during which I danced, jumped up and down, screamed and generally behaved like a demented banshee the entire time. It’s a Dionysian ecstatic frenzy kind of thing. At least for me.

I had borrowed Maureen’s shoes, because she has tall shoes, for the show. At not quite 5’1”, let’s face it – I am not going to be able to see over anybody. I didn’t even notice until we got to the parking lot that I had blisters on the bottoms of both of my feet. I said to Maureen and Rich, “Uh, where did you guys park? Because I’m not so sure about walking to the car…”

I slept, sorta, on their pull out couch, sans benefit of massive additional foam padding. (Maureen, I didn’t tell you this, but I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to leave the next day.) The next day, though, I felt way better than I expected to. The main thing was my voice. As in, what voice? Talking was a challenge for almost two weeks. One of my colleagues suggested I get a temporary job at a 900 number to take advantage of the whole raspy, whispery voice thing.

So, yeah, the fibro thing is much, much better. In fact, lots of things in my life are pretty damn good. To the point where I’ve lost the impulse to bludgeon to death people who say, “It’s all good” while screaming, “What about this?? Is this good too??”

Maybe being forced to slow down, once I got past the initial denial and fuck you stage of it, has allowed me to see happy things that I breezed right by before. I like where I live; it’s not ideal, but it’s good. I have a car that doesn’t cost me a fortune to run. I have critters I love around me. I have freaking phenomenal friends. I have a niece and nephew that are the most adorable, coolest, smartest, cutest, most awesome kids ever in the history of humanity. I have bills, but, hey, I can pay them. I still have all my parts and, as far as I know, they all still work. I live in a part of the world where I have a reasonable expectation of safety at all times.

I also have something I’m devoted to that gives my life meaning and purpose. I’m referring to Not Without My Pet, of course. Meaning and purpose can’t be overestimated. So, what I never thought I’d say, it’s all good.