Yup, I said it, I’m hopelessly addicted to opioids and I have been for almost two decades, and guess what – I don’t have any plans to stop. What can I say – I’m a loner, a rebel without a cause, and I like to spit in the eye of the man when he tells me what I can and can’t do. Living life on the edge I don’t play by anyone else’s rules. Oh, and I also suffer from crippling chronic pain.
Mild mannered private school teacher by day, party queen and drug addict by night, Lisa Smith lived life on the knife’s edge for years before she was finally overcome by the debauchery. In Unschooled, my friend Lisa Smith talks ab out her descent into the party scene and her resulting battle with addiction, while trying to keep the facade and decorum of an elite private school teacher in NYC intact. When her two worlds did eventually collide, her real story began. Check it out, it’s a great read!
Hey guys, here are a few handy tips that can help to make living with Rheumatoid arthritis a bit more tolerable. Putting the keyring onto zippers is something I do all the time! Check it out and thanks to Healthline!
Getting old. I can’t remember where I heard it, but I’ve been told that it “sucks.” Oh, that’s right, it was everyone old I ever knew. Now, having Rheumatoid Arthritis since the age of nine, my body began to wear out the day I was diagnosed, and I had just assumed that my disease was an early form of that wonder of nature called aging. Unfortunately, it’s looking like that’s not the case as my disease and time itself are now locked in a race to the death – to my death, as they fight one another in a bloody conflict for the right to make my body even more useless than it already is. Their war rages on, but no matter who wins, I lose.
On a recent road trip, a number of things went wrong, so so wrong. Little things, though, but when you have a chronic illness like R.A., little things can add up to big problems. Just like they did for me.
We’ve all heard the phrase “everyone’s the hero of their own story,” but do you ever stop and consider what that really means? I have been thinking about it a lot lately, and what it really means to someone chronically ill. Spoiler alert: it’s not all beautiful maidens and slain dragons.
Having a chronic illness shakes your faith in yourself on an hourly basis. Want to change a light bulb? Your shoulders don’t have enough range of motion. Need to change a tire? Don’t have the strength to turn the bolts. Want to change your socks? Can’t reach past my toes. You get the idea – chronic illness makes your painfully aware of all the things you can’t do on a very regular basis, and that’s when you are well. Unfortunately, I was sick recently, more ill than I’d been in a long time.
So, here’s a little bit of fun today. It’s my second marriage anniversary, and in keeping with the tradition started years and years ago, I have debased myself on video for my wife’s pleasure! Seriously, though, it’s all in good fun. Enjoy this ridiculous movie.
The eleventh episode of Chronic Briefs, my short podcast series, is now available for download and listening! This one deal with turning 40, as many of us are starting to do. Listen, laugh, and enjoy!
Yesterday, I added a new chapter to that soulful saga of soles that has become an extreme exercise in extremity anxiety. As usual, the outcome was a stalemate, and a tie always goes to the running-shoe. Facing the archenemy of arch-support is exhausting, and even when I win, finding cleats that fits my feets is always a bittersweet feat. My piggy-curator is ready for a pygmy-castrator to end the war of me vs. shoes once and for all.
I can’t believe I’m damn forty years old. What the hell happened to all those years? I don’t feel forty, but then again, what the hell is 40 supposed to feel like? I imagine it’s akin to the feeling you get when going out for Carvel ice cream and then finding out the only thing that’s open is the local health store with the frozen soy dessert. It’s better than having can’t believe I’m damn forty years old. What the hell happened to all those years? I don’t feel forty, but then again, what the hell is 40 supposed to feel like? I imagine it’s akin to the feeling you get when going out for Carvel ice cream and then finding out the only thing that’s open is the local health store with the frozen soy dessert. It’s better than having nothing at all, but not by much – the enthusiastic “meh” of ages. nothing at all, but not by much – the enthusiastic “meh” of ages.