It’s Like Whatever



I’ve been busy living life as opposed to writing about it. 

I can’t believe I just wrote that sentence with a straight face, because “Busy Living Life” isn’t exactly accurate. Whilst, I have been living (because I’m not dead), I shouldn’t say I’ve been BUSY.

“Busy” gives the indication that I’m excitedly doing stuff with no time to do more stuff which quite frankly, the stuff I’m doing isn’t fun/exciting. It’s pretty pathetic and if misery could be formed into a human form, well, friends, just look my way.

What started as a minor skin irritant two months ago has now turned into a raging fire on my skin. I’m broken out in hives all over my chest, stomach and lower back. And if I could get away without wearing a bra to work, I would do so. This isn’t an option because the last thing I need is to break a few ribs going up and down the stairs in my building because I had to go bra-less. I remember a time in which my big breasts were idyllic to my sex appeal. Now, at the age of forty, they are a safety hazard and in no way could be classified as sexy.

I’m not exactly sure WHAT is going on with my body, but I’m in an internal hell. Taking a shower is painful. Wearing clothes is painful. NOT wearing clothes is painful.

Basically being me is painful. 

Plus, I’m dealing with major digestive issues that has me bloated and swollen and my discord is only intensified by The Boyfriend. The Boyfriend is on some health kick and is shedding pounds like crazy. He recently bought not one, but TWO bicycles and if he isn’t playing softball, golf or hockey…he’s riding his bike. I have mixed feelings of admiration and jealousy…because I would like to be more active and join him. Or maybe not even join him because that is now HIS thing so I would probably do something active solo. I admire his commitment to be fit and healthy but I’m also jealous because THAT WAS ME. And I can’t even wear a damn bra and clothes during my 8 hour work day without doing Lamaze breathing. This irritate torture is becoming more difficult to hide my displeasure when it comes to my being smothered in calamine lotion with an ice pack on my stomach and The Boyfriend is excitedly talking about some new trail he’s found on his bike and is all,  “OMG BABE, IT’S SO MUCH FUN!”

How dare he have perfect NON-ITCHING skin free of hives, is able to poop daily AND is happily active? I want to tell him he looks absolutely ridiculous in his bike attire and not just that?

Hockey is stupid. 

I don’t say any of that, because none of it is true.  I’m cranky and miserable and want to kick -whatever this is going on with my body- out into the oblivion. And because nothing is quick and easy…the next available appointment to see this new specialist is two weeks away. So I do what only comes natural to me:

Bitch to the entire Internet and shoot daggers at The Boyfriend when he tells me he’s going to play golf this weekend because:

Golf is stupid.