When the valve begins to whistle, the proper response is to evacuate.....

There used to be a rule among the students of mine, back in the days when I spent my time in a classroom with my long hair and my moccasins.

The rule was simple:  you could tell the weather by how I walked.  If it was cold, I was walking slowly with a bit of the crippled-up.  If it was warm, I moved more quickly.  And the standing order of the day was, if I was moving slowly and crippled, do not approach if you valued your skin or your self-esteem.  I was known to be kind, most of the time....and I would always apologize for a bitter invective...but I WAS able to lash out, if the day was cold, the pain in my joints was high, and my self control at low ebb.

I was diagnosed with the beginnings of arthritis at a fairly young age; I was 28.  I tried to take care of myself, keep myself reasonably limber, pop the really good pain killers, and laugh when I could.

But there were days when it would be ALMOST overwhelming.

I'm sure there's something to be said for simply GIVING IN.  Just giving up that well-tuned self control, lie down on the floor, and just groan and scream for awhile.  Let it out; it'll be good for you and you'll feel better.

And there have been moments in the last couple of days that have sorely tried my patience.

I woke up a few days ago with a nagging pain near the base of my spine; it made it difficult to walk, naturally, and the resulting compensation for that pain resulted in pretty much twisting everything up into a mess. 

I look like freakin' Ed Sullivan.

And yes, I should be attending to people who know how to fix such things; and yes, I WILL.  Until then, I have my pills and my heating pad and my rapidly increasing feeling of rage.

And an hour ago, a thought occurred to me.

I'm tired of this.

I'm tired of putting up with pain so I can be somewhere, doing something I don't want to be doing at a time in the day when GOD HIMSELF is napping.

I'm tired of twisting myself into a pretzel so I can be considered a "good soldier."

I'm tired of being in recovery.  Constantly in recovery.  I'm not healthy; the damned denial was supposed to make me healthy and I'm NOT.  NOT HEALTHY and NOT HAPPY.

And IN PAIN.

So, come sunrise, I am going out on the roof, I'm going to take a deep breath and I'm going to shout to the rush hour traffic EXACTLY what civilization can do with itself in GRAPHIC detail, and then I'm going to rattle my wrecked ass to the elevator, go down to my car, and either go home and go to sleep or find a tavern that will serve me something large and cold and tasty, along with the LONGEST cigarette ever seen or lit by mankind. 

And I don't care what anybody thinks.


Now.  Which do you think I'll actually do?

State you answer in the form of a question, top it with hot fudge, put it in a box, tie it with a ribbon, and throw it in the deep blue sea.