I want my body back!!!
Seriously though.
I’m not really a baby, I swear, and if any of these things would just happen alone I wouldn’t even be whining about it. REALLY.
I know it could be worse.
I know half of the world has it harder than me.
I know all of that but I REALLY want my body back.
If it was just the mutant cold.
Or just the monstrous self-impregnating cold sore that has been eating my face for a week.
Or just an injured bicep tendon and rotator cuff.
Or JUST the freakish infection that has decided to play house in my calf.
I promise I wouldn’t be complaining. For real.
But if you could just take a minute to imagine the vision of beauty that I am right now.
A drooling, runny-nosed, coughing, confused, limping, face-herpes victim with a big dark red spot encircled by a giant red lump on the back of my leg, with a black circle drawn on it in felt pen.
All I’m missing is a hump… and a mole with a hair growing out of it.
Honestly, I disgust myself. I’ve hung sheets over all the mirrors in the house.
The cats won’t even look at me anymore.
If my girlfriend wasn’t too drunk weak from whatever plague I infected her with, to get up off the couch, she would probably pack up and move out.
Naturally, since I’ve been injured for months and sick for weeks, I can’t remember the last time I actually worked out.
And in case my trainer is reading this, yes, I know I worked out but I mean like for real.
More than once a week, and actually working.
I mean not just half halfheartedly lumbering around the gym like a drunk bear on a tricycle.
I mean breaking out into a sweat – not breaking out into hives ( I’ve apparently developed an allergy to physical exertion and general warmth).
I’ve basically gained a trillion pounds, which doesn’t do much for one’s moral.
I tried fighting it for a few days. I made an effort, you know?
Showering, make-up etc… but then I realized that between the incredibly low lighting in our house, and my early-onset middle-aged blindness…. I looked less polished than I did like an elderly drag-queen troll doll.
Especially since my hairdresser had the audacity to go and get herself knocked up with child and stopped colouring my hair (roots) months ago. Honestly, some people are so selfish…
So I gave up. I’ve stopped brushing my hair and quite honestly, it’s been liberating. I have so much more time in a day now – better spent obsessively checking and re-drawing the black circle that the doctor drew around the infected area of my leg.
“The redness shouldn’t go much beyond this line, or you need to be seen again right away.”
The doctor who told me that one of the side effects of the antibiotics he prescribed me is…
C Difficile.
“I really wish you hadn’t told me that”
“I have to. As a doctor, I’m obligated to warn you of all potential side effects. But don’t worry, nobody that I’ve prescribed this to has ever come back to me infected with it”
“Of course they haven’t! They didn’t go BACK to you! They went to the hospital! JEESUS!”
Okay, so where does that leave us?
Ah yes, a trillion pound, plague infected, physically challenged, itchy, limping, grey-haired, mutant-mouth with an angry target drawn on her calf… So basically, I’m this guy right here:
Tune in tomorrow for yet another awe inspiring look into the life of a glamour queen and, if you’re really lucky, an update on the status of the ring around my calf.
xox JJ xox