waiting just a few minutes before I inject myself with proteins derived from Chinese hamster ovaries.
I swear, I keep waiting for the desires to run on a metal treadmill, gnaw on small pieces of wood, or devour my own children to sneak up on me at the most inopportune time. Of course, I guess it helps that I don't have any children.
You know, I am mostly a suck-it-up kind of person. It's the way I was raised. And, that sort of attitude represents the stock from which I sprung. I mean, my great grandmother married a very friendly and notoriously unreliable alcoholic and subsequently ran both a gas station and a bar with only the help of a Louisville Slugger -- all while the hubby slept it off in the overturned Model T off to the side of the road. Oh, and she had RA, to boot.
My fondest recollection of her is from when I was five and she was 83. She'd moved down to Louisiana by then for the warmer weather. Anyway, one day while I was visiting, near dusk, she went streaking outside with Louisville Slugger in hand. I heard much clattering and grunting among the trees and bushes near the house, and subsequently witnessed an armadillo emerge to make for the swamp. Nannie chased him to the edge of the property line. When she came into the house, she looked at me, squinted up her eyes, and announced, "Armadillos. Never could stand the looks of them, Kim."
I can only hope that I am fortunate enough to approach life with RA in the way that Nannie did, with Louisville Slugger in hand.