Already Wednesday

I am such a wuss with needles. IV? No. I'd rather not. Shots? Well, fuck me. If I have to. I guess. I mean...

That was my Monday morning as I scheduled with Walgreen's to get the flu, Covid, and RSV shot. Because why not give me all of them?

Right arm was in a flare, which verily sucked. 

But I did NOT want three shots in one arm. See the first sentence of this blog.

I opted for two in left and one in right.

The RSV was first. And it stung like a sonofabitch. As I proclaimed this exact thing, the pharmacist follows up with: RSV uses a bigger needle.

Oh. Do they? Do they just???

I brace myself for the Covid because I swear to one and all that I can FEEL the medicine go in.

That also is quite the sting.

Now.

At this point, I think I'm fairly off the hook since the flu shot is like one quick sting and then nothing. Woot to me!

NOT woot to me. First poke. Sting.

CONTINUED TO STING.

What in the unholy vaccines is going on?

I'm bleeding on both sides. Stand on shaky legs.

Bandaids and a receipt.

Still sore today. 🖕

Tuesday was Spravato, so that's always a write-off day.

Today I plot and plan exactly what in the fuck I'll be doing with myself like one to two weeks after my trigger finger surgery.

Because, apparently, typing will not be it for at LEAST the first week. Then, as previously stated, I can type through the pain.

Because, of course I can.

But what an option.

Now, my wee brain is filled with existential horror about not being able to create for a period of time.

And this is going to back me up far enough that I won't catch up (likely not true, but the thought exists). I think I may be able to edit. But writing is a large NO, and I need to work on "The Rabbit God". Edit "Fire Goddess".

I don't know! I'm in panic mode over here. 

Told my hand doc that I type for a living. He asked about deadlines. I was silent. Then, he said, you have deadlines all the time. Stated as a fact. 

I nod.

Maybe it won't be as debilitating as I think I will be. 

Maybe.

To channel Taylor:

"So tell me everything is not about me, but what if it is? Then say they didn’t do it to hurt me, but what if they did?"

A little off course, but I'm feeling it.

Okay. Well. 

Just going to sit here with my executive dysfunction and enjoy the day with a right middle finger that hasn't been tampered with yet.