'With God As My Witness...'


Well, the news is in. Bets will no longer be accepted. I have.....(drum roll please)....Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Woohoo. Confession: I always thought these people were a little on the lazy side. So, it seems that this mystery illness has been waiting inside my body for goddess-only-knows how long now, and the wonderful Norwalk virus gave it an "all clear" to complete its hostile takeover. So, with my body at DefCon 2, let's take the time for a little recap, shall we? I was a beautiful, vibrant, energetic, ambitious woman that ran until the wee hours as needed. I am now a beautiful, vibrant, lethargic slug that has about 4 hours of energy per day. I am just kidding. I must admit that I am pissed over this.

You see, the idea of having Cushing's Syndrome (or PinCushing's as my brother so affectionately refers to it) wasn't so bad. I was going to be down for a while, a little surgery through my face, hopefully they were going to throw in a complementary nose job, and I would recover and my life would resume. Oh, no. This is for life. They cannot diagnose it, anyone could claim that I am "faking"; and there is no certainly no cure, no magic pill, no true course of treatment. I get to eat well, sit in the sun, laugh a lot, lightly exercise, etc.- all without the promise that it will help a teeny weeny bit. Oh! And it's forever. Now, I could get better in a month, or five, or five years, or never.

Mark my words, fair people of cyberspace- I will not go down like this. In fact, this does not even resemble what I think of when I hear the words "go down". Heh. I refuse- absolutely, unequivocally re-fucking-fuse to live the rest of my years in this state. I will begin my plan of attack. So far, I have ruled out masturbation therapy. It just doesn't seem to work much.