Thursday, September 11, 2008
Letter to my disability
I hate you. You suck. You are a bad, bad disease and will get no love and no cookie from me. You drain all my energy and then give me insomnia so that I can't sleep. You make me toss and turn and chase my girlfriend out of bed. You make me cranky. You make me so cranky and exhausted that I want to throtle my cats for unplugging the computer. For the millionth time. You make me so tired that I can't stand up long enough to take a shower and that makes me cranky because I really, really, really want to wash my damned hair, dammit.
You freak out my Emmy, which pisses me off. Seriously, give us a break, dammit. Or I'll do...something.
Leave my ankles alone, for fucks sake. I need them to walk. Also, my wrists? Leave them alone too. I need them to do stuff like drive or brush my hair or eat or, I don't know, take drugs to make you go away. So, stop it already.
I've tried to be reasonable with you. I've tried to let bygones be bygones. But seriously? Fuck off already. The best I've felt in years was in the immediate aftermath of a fucking hurricane? What??? You are one sick, sick bastard, you know that? Trees are fallen, powerlines are gone, people are trying to seal up holes in their roofs and THAT is when you decide to take a vacation? What the hell? You couldn't skip town when I wanted to have a night out? You couldn't leave long enough for me to go see a movie, but you'll run off for a week when every fucking thing is closed and the city's under a curfew? Seriously, I hate you.
And of course you come back just as everything is getting back to normal. When the movies are actually open for me to go see. When the restaurants and parks and book stores and all the other fun stuff have come back online, you come back from wherever the hell it was you went. (Admit it: you did go to hell, didn't you? To pick up some tips from other demons on how to torture me, right? I hate you. So much.)
So, here's the thing: leave me alone or I'll do something drastic. You remember the physical therapy? Ha. You didn't like that, did you? And those cortesone injections? Those pissed you off too. I'm not above all out war here, so leave me alone. Dammit.