Yes, that's right. MS was lovin' on me today. I suppose I should reconsider this unwelcome companion's attitude toward me. See, I've felt as if it was here to annoy me, to wrestle with me, and to think up fun and interesting ways for me to make a fool of myself. You know, like causing me to stumble, fumble, and stutter my way through life? While that's all true...it also happens to love me. It really loves me.
Today, I decided to wage war against approximately 13" of heavy snow covered driveway. I was armed with a plastic snow shovel, my daughter's 2-sizes-too-small-for-me snowboots (because I haven't owned a pair of those in 25yrs and refuse to spend money on them), a giant winter hat (that made me feel like I was part of Fat Albert), and a couple of my husband's fluorescent yellow work sweatshirts. Didn't want to bundle up too much, because I was afraid I'd become overheated and see 26" of snow with the double vision and all. Plus, if I were to fall, I wanted to be plainly visible. My version of Life Alert.
So there I was, pushing my fragile shovel into the rock-like snow boulders. I dug, I pushed, I heaved snow to the side. I was on fire! No, really. I have a spot in my left hammy about the diameter of a silver dollar that feels like someone's lighting a match. Anyway, I continued...digging and pushing and throwing...and my back began to scream out, "hey! What's going on out there! I haven't hurt this bad since field hockey circa 1987!", but I fearlessly pushed on. My shovel began to shake in my field of vision. Oh hey, Nystagmus! Love how you come 'round when I'm tired and all, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda busy here. See, this black car I'm digging behind? It's gotta get out to that road. I'm almost out of creamer, and that's the real definition of a "situation"...well before any tv show made the term popular.
After what seemed like hours and hours of work, I was completely exhausted. I stopped the driveway assault, dug my shovel into the next pile of snow, and slowly inched my way up to full 5'1" upright position for an assessment of my progress. Was I feeling overconfident? Absolutely! I turned to see how far I had gotten. The answer? Nowhere. Not quite 1/3, and that's with the bare spot my car contributed. Okay, where's Alan Funt and his Candid Camera? Surely I accomplished more than that? But alas, the proof was in the pudding. Or driveway, as it were. Alan never showed. I'd have stuck a shovel in his hand and told him to get pushin'.
Ah yes, the agony of defeat. Exhausted, in pain, dejected. I made my way to a tall snow bank, overhead karate chopped the shovel into it, and turned for the front door. All of the sudden, I felt the unmistakable squeeze around my head. Then it began around my chest. Awww, it was ms! Giving me a hug:-)
It's been about 8 hours since the onset of these loving hugs. Okay ms...you can (breathing deeply) let go now...kay? Yeah yeah, I love you too...(breathing in)...no really I do...(breathing out). It's just that I like to hug and depart. There's an unwritten rule of conduct for hugging, in that you hug for 2.2 seconds and release. Otherwise, it becomes awkward. You've exceeded that rule by...hours. It's officially 8+ hours of awkward. I'm just sayin'.