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August 28, 2004

Rub One Out

I am only just now recovering from Diaryland burnout. You know the sympotoms: You can't hardly look at your computer without the sudden urge to update your diary. Your fingers are permanently locked in the "home key" position. You leave phantom messages in random guestbooks just to see if they'll come and visit your own site. You read your stats tracker more than thirty times a day.

Been there. Done that. Over it.

I took a much-needed break from the Internet, and you know what? It felt good. I didn't feel guilty about not answering my e-mails, and I didn't go into an epileptic shock after realizing that I hadn't been reading updates from my buddy list in over two weeks. In short: Life goes on. I can postpone my blog dorkiness for a while without feeling like I've comitted a cardinal sin. And it feels damn good, too.

I don't think I mentioned it before I went on my unannounced hiatus, but I've been seeing lots of doctors in the past few weeks about my injuries since the accident. It's getting to the point where I can't stand up or sit down for more than an hour before my legs start tingling, and my back starts to burn. Two weeks ago, my regular doctor asked me to see some electro-shock therapist, who spent forty-five minutes running currents down the nerves in my spine and legs just to tell me there was nothing wrong with me. What a great waste of insurance benefits. She sent me back to my doctor telling him that I should take another round of X-rays, and maybe get an MRI to check out the discs in my back.

Flash forward to this Thursday, when I went in for a follow up on the electro-shock woman's analysis. After much poking and prodding, they (My mother, the nurse, was present on this visit) determined that I might have post-traumatic fibromyalgia, and while this may go away with treatment resulting from the accident, I might end up having the disease for the rest of my life.

Christ.

I know what fibromyalgia does to people. Lindsay has it. My Aunt Linda has it. Neither one of them can honestly say that they don't do any wincing when the wake up from bed in the morning. It just sounds like the one of the suckiest chronic illnesses a person could ever have. And now these people, after running me from doctor to doctor for two months straight, want to diagnose me with it?

You can see I'm having problems with this.

All's I really want is to close the whole chapter on this car accident. I want the doctors' visits over with. I want the insurance company to stop hounding me. I want to merge onto the freeway without any flashbacks. I want to have my life back. Period.

Today's Soundtrack: "Three Girl Rumba," Wire

Best Part of the Day: Dad finally bought a new car. Check it out here.

posted at 9:18 a.m.

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