Round and round she goes.....

There are times when I swear I am on a carousel going round and round and round. This week has been one of those times. It seems that it is the same thing over and over and over. I get up in the morning, take my meds, wait about an hour for them to kick in and boost me on my slow way to the kitchen, start the coffee process, watch the news for a bit while the coffee makes, prepare a bowl of oatmeal with honey and cinnamon, pour the coffee, and finish watching the news.

I round the carousel corner by getting dressed, checking my emails and blog, and then deciding what one or two things I may be able to accomplish given my pain levels for the day. If I choose laundry then that is pretty much it for the day. If I choose to clean my bathroom I know this will put me out of commission for days on end. If I decide on vacuuming I might as well have decided to fall off a cliff (the dust bunnies just keep growing and multiplying in my home).  If I decide to focus on my health and venture out for that round the block walking trip, I then need to rest but yet again when I arrive home.

Round and round she goes, where she will wind up nobody knows.  I suppose the tedious monotony of it all is what is making me nauseous of late. I want things to be just a bit more normal. Say, could I at least have the option of doing my one load of laundry and taking a walk? Or perhaps, am I asking too much, be able to vacuum and not have my hands, wrists and elbows feel like they are dislocated?

Can someone please contact the ride operator and let them know it is time for me to get off. I am tired of riding this ra ride and would like a reprieve now. I am tired of the same old, same old with the side effects of the medications available and the possible long term implications on my health if I decide to venture down a new med road again. I am just tired.

Ironically, since my car was stolen and taken for a joy ride, I look at her with new found respect. She has been mechanically fixed and runs just fine but her body still has patches which shows the abuse.  Once we finalize her with a brand new paint job, no one will know. Her secrets will be hidden below her new paint job and she can once again zip around with pride. How come I can't get patched up like that? How come we have to wear our battle scars permanently with this disease? And how come we can not return to our old selves? Our remake is constant and never ending. We must ALWAYS be under reconstruction either by taking meds, getting surgeries or trying our darndest to just maintain what is left.

Yep, I am ready to stop riding this merry-go-round. Can someone please notify the operator to let me off?

This way I can find me a human repair shop whereby I can trade in my body parts for new ones and spray on a new set of skin.