The Symptoms

Today was a 2.35.

I was searching for an analogy for how I feel. Have you ever seen the Gloucestershire cheese rolling competition? As far as I remember, it goes like this: Someone launches a cheese wheel down a grassy cliff. Then a bunch of brawny Brits fling themselves down after it. Appendages go flying everywhere. It’s a paramedic’s heyday.

I feel like the battered wheel of cheese waiting at the bottom to be crushed by a mass of flying flesh.

I think maybe this morning God traded my 21-year-old joints with my 80-something-year-old grandma’s. Did I mention she’s at least 10 inches shorter? It wasn’t a good fit.

Okay, joking aside, I was having a rough time walking at all today.
I don’t like having arthritic joints. Mwaaa. I’d noticed over the last week I’d been having more and more trouble navigating the basement stairs at Auntie Karen’s, but today was by far the worst my joints have ever felt.

Um, oh. The other thing was that my breathing was disturbingly irregular.

But I had an appetite. I made some morale-boosting pizza. Yay. And I slept for 12 hours. And I managed to wash my hair and get dressed like a big girl. There were many triumphs today.