12,520 Days Alive
1 Full Spoonie Bingo Line
I’m annoyed. Hold on to your britches, folks, coz I am about to go off.
This is one of many chronic illness “bingo” cards.
And today, in one conversation with a pair of well-meaning but mildly moronic coworkers, this happened:
I’m gonna talk about each and every fucking one because I’m so upset about it.
“You should get out more, go for walks outside,” they said. Because they don’t know about my life outside of work, how I walk the trash to to dumpster, or go to get the mail.
“Are you getting enough sleep?” Fuck no I’m not. I’ll never get enough sleep. I’ve been sleep deprived since the age of seven.
“Oh, but you don’t look sick,” they said “yesterday you were so peppy!” I don’t look like I’m in constant pain? I don’t look like I pop caffeine pills to get through the day without falling asleep behind the monitor or gods forbid the wheel? The hell do they know.
“Have you tried positive thinking? Yoga? A juice cleanse? A juice cleanse helped my cousin Sally lose fifteen pounds in two weeks!” Fuck. All the way. Off.
“What about exercise?” Because you as someone who barely knows me and doesn’t know my physical and mental health should totally be telling me to exercise.
“Is Fibromyalgia even real?” “Doctor Oz said…” “oh, I saw this great thing on Facebook!” Quoting that avocado fucker at me is not going to inspire great faith in your opinion.
I’m… tired. Angry. You get the point.
It doesn’t matter. I should just let it go.
I’m going to go crochet.
Take your meds, folks.