Yesterday really started on wednesday. I wanted to go to the demo - incidentally: sign this please - but realised, when G was leaving for work that I was just drained. So I stayed in bed and slept a little. Then I got up, and walked the dogs as usual. And that was bloody exhausting. I was supposed to meet a friend in town, but thankfully she cancelled - and so I did some research on my uni essay from home (thank the internet for google books) and by the time getting ready to leave for uni came around I was fucking wiped.
So I didn't go, and I felt a bit crap about it. I hate having to miss things, especially uni, but I was supposed to go into work on Thursday, and it was only a film, and... I was just so damn tired.
Went to bed on Wednesday, and I woke up on Thursday feeling like someone had set my spine on fire. Which is always a good sign. And then I discovered other parts of me hurt, and I couldn't really stand, so I called G, sobbing, to get him to come and walk the dogs because Boy Wonder couldn't make it, and I crawled to the back door to let Holly out... and crawled back into bed until G arrived.
I hate having to get G to help me shower (the issue is mostly getting in and out), I hate not being able to walk the dogs, I hate that all I did was sleep and sort-of watch tv.
I hate that people like me are called scroungers, and that people think we're lazy. I won't apply for disability support, because I know I won't get it - I don't need help with "everyday" tasks, not everyday at least.
Bollocks to all of it. Days like yesterday remind me that I'm sick, that I'm disabled.
Then I read this and think that at least I'm not there. Yet.