are you kidding me?

So last Tuesday I woke up with a 102 degree fever. I was icky sick for two days, but by Friday I was on the mend. I normally take my Enbrel and methotrexate injections on Fridays. With my journey to meet Jesus (also known as septic shock) still fresh in my mind, I decided to hold off a few more days to give my body time to get well before I kill off my immune system.


I started having hip and knee pain Monday. By Tuesday feet, elbow and hands were added. On Wednesday my lower back began to hurt. Then I woke up on Thursday morning with pain in my ears. Within hours my jaw started to ache. I took the meds.

If the disease won't kill me, the treatment just might. I was telling my super awesome husband about my funeral, my wants and don't wants. First off, the casket must be open. But I don't want to lay there is some uncomfortable dress, all stiff and "resting". Oh Hell no! First off, I want my eyes open, wide. And heavy on the eye makeup, like I normally do. I want to be in a comfy t-shirt and no bra, unless the girls have re-sagged, at which point I will concede to a bra. And sweatpants, nice ones. Let us not forget socks, my feet get cold easily now. NO SHOES, they are uncomfortable as hell, and I won't be doing much walking. Funny, isn't it, that I love love love shoe shopping (oh Imelda Marcos, to have your collection.....) but I hate to wear them.

Now the most important thing about my corpse: eyes must be wide open, with a look of abject terror on my face. Then I want my hands positioned up and out in front of me, bent at the elbows as if I were throwing my arms up to protect myself from, say, a collision with a baseball or windshield.

When I was done explaining how I wanted my body to be displayed George decided he could not handle knowing the rest of my funeral wishes. Too bad, I was hoping to book some stand up comedians, some trained dogs and monkeys, and I want my casket to be driven to the cemetary in a clown car.

In other words, I want people to have a party and celebrate my odd and twisted life, not mourn my passing.

It must be really hard living with me.