So, it's 2:08 am and I'm still awake. Not really insomnia this time around... nope this is just good, old-fashioned, night-owl-ish-ness combined with a healthy dose of I-don't-give-a-damn.Nessie over at lipstick, perfume, and too many pills gave me this sweet blog award, which I will try my darnedest to post on tomorrow. Thanks, Nessie! Truly the best part of this, though, was checking out all the other blogs that Nessie gifted the award too because, damn, this girl could be a blog curator if there were such a thing as a blog museum. I'm just having a blast going through these puppies. There's RA Guy, who draws comics, of which I am ALWAYS a fan (Hyperbole and a Half much?). Amanda over at All Flared Up is FUNNY in that awesome, irreverent sort of way, which can seem taboo sometimes when you're feeling as crappy as we sometimes do. And Helen from Pens and Needles is starting to feel like my long-lost friend the more I read her posts. So really, much fun to be had tonight on the interwebz.
But I think what I like best about reading blogs from other people with chronic illness-- and especially other young, single people with chronic illness-- is the fact that they make the same mistakes I do. And that sometimes you can't even really call them mistakes because it's not like we took a gamble. I *know* what happens when I drink, and I *know* what happens when I stay out too late, and I *know* what happens if I push myself too hard for too long. Yeah. I get it. The whole fragility thing. Womp womp womp.
But, sometimes, I just don't care. I'm sorry. Sometimes, if I'm not feeling my worst, and I have that anxious, "gotta get out of this house-," "my God I'm 24 years old and I never have any fun"- feeling... well, I'm going to get out of this house and have some fun. And sometimes it's a mistake. And sometimes it's the best thing I could have done for myself. Because whether or not I get better after all, I'm not waiting around for my life to start. It's happening. Right now. Right this very freakin' minute. And sometimes the threat of a crash just doesn't measure up to the threat of reaching 25 and thinking, what the hell did I DO last year?
So that's where I am right now. Please don't judge me if one day my posts are about how I can't get out of bed, and the next day I'm on my way to a series of events. Or sharing dumb stories about the stupid things people say in bars. Or taking overly ambitious road trips. Or even chaperoning a church youth camp in the middle of this heat wave (something I'm actually considering for next week, depending on how these stomach issues pan out). It doesn't always mean I'm feeling that much better (though sometimes it does and that's awesome); it just means I'm juuuust enough better to start living my life again.
