Hello Darling Ones,

How are you? You know if you ever want to say how you are you can leave a comment or email me or message/@ me on various platforms. Just giving you that option.

As for me, I’m still down in the dumps. I didn’t get any LEGOs for Easter, BFK still dislikes me, and my tremor continues to be a dramatic son of a bitch. Kind.

Yesterday my physical therapist made me do sit-to-stands in the pool. I hate doing sit-to-stands, both on land and at sea.

“How are you doing?” she asked as I hauled me carcass off the pool step into standing position.
“I hate these,” I whined. “I feel so wobbly!”

She checked to make sure I feel safe, because PTs worry about that. They never want you to fall, which I think makes their jobs about 64% less hilarious. Although, if your job is to help people get strong, falls aren’t so funny. Besides, when a patient falls they have to do a ton paperwork, which is 0% hilarious.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said. “You don’t look wobbly.”
“You know,” I said. “I don’t think it does.”

For some reason I’m afraid people will think I’m faking it. It’s as though I need some physical marker to show people that yes, yes, I am indeed disabled at the moment. The problem when your afflictions are all in your head is it feels like it’s all in your head.

So I continue to be sad and cranky and looking for bright spots, no matter how small.

For example, I was on the phone with EM last night telling her how pumped I am that the Netflix Glass Blowing show is back. I cannot think of the name of it and I’m refusing to look it up. Best in Blow? Best in Glass? Blowin’ it?

It’s a Top Chef/Project Runwayesque show where glass blowers create glass art in a certain amount of time following the challenge, one goes home each week until there one glower left. It’s fabulous and there’s always the chance that shit is gonna bread, which is the glass blowing equivalent of a patient falling in physical therapy.

This show is very much my jam (jar).

May I remind you how much I love glass crap? I’m quite literally wasted my life by not being a glass blower. At the time I was sure all I needed to fill the hole in my soul was my own glory hole.

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t become a glass blower,” I told EM. “Can you imagine how sad I’d be if I had to give up my passion because of the stroke?”

That, my Darling Ones, is what we call finding a silver-lining.

Fragilely & transparently yours,
Jodi

P.S. Pictured above is my red crystal Hershey Kiss candy dish. Isn’t she a beaut? Before I was poor I liked to play eBay chicken for cute crap. This usually involved me bidding $5-$10 on something marked “or best offer.” I won some. I lost a bunch. I love that $5 candy dish.