Hurty Gertie

I rolled out of bed. Into the shower, and then hobbled through breakfast.

I felt like … I was carrying an extra me around all morning, or at least half of an extra me.

Since I’ve been shotless, I’ve got this constant headache that pills can’t touch – it’s a barometer of pain for me, I know now in my “old” age.

Walking on my feet felt like I was walking on little broken sticks – but instead of on them, “around” them. My bones in my feet and toes were my little broken sticks. As are the bones in my head.

My scalp is flaring up (no shot? OTC allergy meds? stress? all of the above?) which is good because I’m going to go see a dermatologist soon to get an official psoriasis diagnosis other than a cursory “Oh, yeah, I’m no dermatologist but it’s probably psoriasis” from everyone else.

I zombied my way through the morning routine. Big assist from the spouse on a wild goose chase up stairs. Less rushed by getting us all up earlier, less “yelly” on my part, though not completely yell-free. Hopefully that improves everyone’s day. And a goal for zero yelling on tomorrow.

But we need to be going earlier, and if I’m going to fill my “job by the end of spring break” goal, I have to be able to walk the walk. Or hobble the … something.

Yoda says I should get a call “soon” from the new folks handling the meds now that the approval is done (instead of when the approval gets done – it is DONE!!!!!). It’s Wednesday so I can’t hope for Friday delivery, but I’ll leave my Monday calendar WIDE open.