Fresh Hell

Whenever my body decides to revolt on me (usually when I'm on my period), I have a penchant to ask What fresh new hell is this? This is mostly a question that is wildly inaccurate. While oftentimes my body warns me of the pending uprising, I am always shocked by its presence. Whether that be manifested in my lactose intolerance deciding it's had enough of my pretending to be a milk drinker -- I think most lactose intolerance-ees will agree those pills rarely work -- and mandates that I spend the evening by the side of the toilet bemoaning my life choices. That's the tamest scenario I could provide without grossing anyone truly out, but I think you get the idea. I don't take care of my body, my body tells me so in violent manners that a wallop to the head would be welcomed graciously.

So what has me up at 3am (I don't care what the Goddamn time stamp says, it's 3am) running to the word vomit factory that is my blog? It would appear I have contracted something which brings an uncontrollable nose faucet, an elephant on my chest, shivers, mild delirium, and best of all... ACHES. Now if you've never had the pleasure of getting sick, what the fuck is your secret I want it. 

Anyway, I'm not exactly sure how colds are experienced by others, but I usually stay in that awful stage where it's the day before you're about to get sick... the entire time. Meaning I am still functioning at a normal level, but covert WWIII is exploding all over my body. I've been very blessed in the fact that I haven't gotten sick since my injury up until now but DAMN. That achey feeling your body gets goes to a whole new level. While the rest of the body does its thing, sleepers are carrying out kill-shots in my knee. It's a miserable experience and I don't recommend it to anyone. 

F you cold. F you. 

Getting Crafty

Being the resistant cleaner I am, I went to the internet this afternoon to procrastinate in the glory of mindlessness.

Lo' and behold I found these great beauties:

For all you needle crafters out there, you can find the pattern here: http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/simple-adjustable-handcuffs

P.S. I like these better, but Pintrest is being a dick and won't tell me where these are from because I don't have an account. 

Another Sunday Funny

Let's Talk About Things and Stuff

Oh Hai! It's been a while, hasn't it? I've kind of been having fun outside the internet, fine-tuning myself into who is typing today. Actually, that's a slight lie. Let's just say due to the natural cycle of womanhood I'm a teenie bit more reactive today than normal. C'est la vie, no?

My shit sundae started a bit like this: I was having a relative handle on my unpredictable hormone level and for the most part with the help of coffee, I felt and acted normal. After work, however, I hear through the grapevine that yet another one of my exes is getting married. To a gal he started dating directly after me. No, don't worry, you haven't stumbled into the script of a shitty romantic comedy. In my mind I've always taken this tidbit as comedy (I'm a lucky charm!) but I'm not quite sure why this latest news has me feeling all goopy in my middle bits. To further the point, it also makes me feel a bit, well, dejected and tainted. Despite what my brain says, some part of me still wants to throw a little tantrum and scream to the Heavens, "WHYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?!" When in all reality I'm right where -- and with (family) -- I'm supposed to be.

Now, this next bit of anxiety can't be emotionally healed with the tiniest paragraph. I fear I would be concerned (rightly so) whether raging bitch baby hormones were coursing through my body or not.

New Year's Eve I feel pretty hard and fucked up my knee again. While at this point I'm quite at ease with OH MY GOD HOLY FUCK MY KNEE sort of occurrences, the swelling hasn't quite gone down and as my rehabilitation trainer pointed out today... it's unstable and I should see my doctor soon. When your worries are confirmed by someone with 15 years worth of experience with post surgery aid... It's like the shit encrusted cherry on top of my sundae.

Good news? That same trainer introduced me to a punching bag. Part of me died and went to heaven.