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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Change over time

I had to leave work yesterday because I was too tired to do anything. I stopped taking anti-inflammatories on Sunday in anticipation of my foot surgery this Thursday (gotta make sure the blood clots, you know) and have been exhausted and in agony ever since. This morning I could neither get myself out of bed, nor dress myself. It was awful.

So I guess itís a good thing my first occupational therapy appointment was today. I had ultrasound on both hands, and another type of ultrasound that uses electrical currents (instead of radio waves) on my right shoulder. I will soon be fitted for wrist/hand braces (2 types: one set for sleeping, one set for working) and some sort of orthodics.

Sexy, huh? Yep, this seems to be the end of the line for what will formerly be known as My Cute Era. From this point forward, itíll all be comfortable shoes and stretchy pants and Iíll have to show future generations actual photos to prove that I was once attractive and sassy. This is the end, my friends. This is the end.

Abrupt change of subject: I bought some strawberries the other day. They sucked but the point of the story is not the fruit, but the green plastic container that they came in. When I was a kid, one of my English teachers (the French ones would never have suggested this type of craft project) wanted us to turn the green containers in to Easter baskets. The teacher gave us that wooly fat yarn stuff, and instructed us to weave it in and out to create the ďbasketĒ effect. Once finished, we would put drawings and doodads, and dyed eggs and who knows what else in there as a surprise for our parents.

You know what? I hated that project. I thought it was lame. I didnít have a good enough vocabulary at the time, but if I had, Iíd have protested that the idea was retarded and tacky and that weíd be better off making something original. Even at the tender age of 9? 10?, I knew those baskets werenít chic or sophisticated enough. That teacher was always coming up with craft projects that I felt were inferior. We were all victims of her lack of creativity and poor taste.

I was in the kitchen yesterday, rinsing out that green container, just laughing at how I havenít changed a bit.

Letís hope I can hold onto that thought while I battle rheumatoid arthritis.

4:37 p.m. - 2005-06-07

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