Rough couple of weeks

I'm going to whinge a little bit. If you aren't up to hearing it, then skip this entry.

The last two weeks, it feels like NOTHING has gone right. I've been in a constant tug of war with both my daughters (over boyfriends), and I feel like I'm losing touch with both my sons. Jim is working, thank God, but money is so tight that each check is spent before it even arrives in our bank account.

Two things in particular have triggered this particular malaise. First, the stupid bit. My little Acer, my connection to the outside world, and to my interior world of writing, decided to have a stroke on me. It didn't die, precisely. But I tend to be hard on keyboards, and this one finally gave up the ghost on me. No, I didn't spill anything into it. I blame it on the fact that I learned to type on a manual typewriter; I have a very heavy hand on the keyboard. It wears them out fast.

Adam thought he could replace it, but it turned out he couldn't. So I've gone a whole week without writing, and it's driven me half insane. I NEED my writing time; it's my escape, my safe place. Today, Jim took some money (that we couldn't afford to spend), and bought me a USB keyboard that I could plug into my little netbook. It's an awkward solution, but, as you can see, I am typing, and therefore writing, again.

It was just math. Replacing my Acer is nearly $500 and an afternoon of transferring files, getting it up to where I need it to be. This awkward arrangement was $20 and thirty seconds to do the plug and play interface between computer and keyboard. I'll buy myself a little Toshiba or something when next April rolls around, or I sell this story. Until then, I can survive.

Second, and more important. I'm tired of being crippled up. Osteoarthritis sucks. It takes away your independence. I'm 44 years old, and even with medication, I can't do my own laundry, I can't clean my own house. My husband gave me a gift this past weekend, and I both love and hate it. He got me a cane. I hate it because it's a constant reminder that I'm helpless, and it makes it obvious to everybody else that I'm helpless. On the other hand, it HAS improved my mobility a little bit. I can go to the grocery store and actually go in myself, not send in one of my daughters.

It is frustrating. Moreover, it's fucking EMBARRASSING. My 75-year-old mother can get around better, and stand up longer than I can. I have gotten back into the SCA because being housebound was not mentally healthy for me, and because, thanks to meds, I do have SOME mobility back. But these people I knew before, they knew me when I was hale and healthy. To have to turn up to meetings and events and have them laugh at me because I walk like an old woman? It hurts. It's humiliating.

The last meeting I attended, I had a sunburn (my doctor has me swimming to try to help my mobility). They were laughing and teasing because I was walking so funny. "You must have really been burned bad, Cecilia! Try a stronger SPF the next time!" I laughed, and let them think it was the sunburn. But it wasn't. I was having a bad day with my back, and that was as good as I could manage.

Most of them are at Pennsic war right now, and the rest of them don't know about this blog, so they won't know how I felt that night, and that's only right. It wasn't their fault; they didn't know. But what am I going to do when the winter comes, and there won't be any hiding it anymore?

At least I have my writing back, my blessed escape hatch. And the doctor has me on my crazy pills again. The sadness will pass off soon. The osteo won't; it is progressive, and degenerative.

I can ride this out. I know I can. But sometimes the nights seem so long.