Just getting in from night duty and focusing my thoughts on sleep. Have you ever been too tired to sleep? That's where I'm at. I refer to it as "Stupid Tired". Side effects of Stupid Tired may include drowsiness, insomnia, the dropsies, word salads, and the inability to care about any single one of 'em. C'mon, Mr. Sandman...I'm not even asking for a dream here. In fact, just make it a version of sleep that resembles general anesthesia. Please and thank you.
I don't know about you, but sitting for as long as I've had to lately causes my legs to forget all about the job they have to do. Fellow ms'ers know the following phrase all to well: "If you don't use it, you'll lose it!"
Shout out to my paraesthesia peeps! The pins and needles started around 3pm, then came the pain around the 6pm hour, and finally, the nummmmb. Personally, numb is my choice...every time. I'd rather feel nothing than pain. I'm extreme like that. By the time I stood up to leave my post at 8:30pm, I was on lower body auto pilot. Basically, I tossed my feet forward and hoped they landed evenly. Success!
I walked in from work, waddled upstairs, changed into something halfway athletic, and warned my dear family that they would certainly want to look away so as not to catch a glimpse of what I would be doing to awaken my legs. They were also asked to ignore any squealing as I pushed the circulation back through my legs. That feeling, in my opinion, is a lot like chewing tin foil.
Commence marching! Not just any marching, the kind that Billy Blanks did back in the Tae Bo days. My music of choice? "Only Girl" by Rihanna. I like to march double time (or attempt to) and sing my own lyrics as an ode to ms. For example: "want you to make me feel...like I actually feel my legs..." and other stupid, non-rhyming, clusters of semi-related words. There I was - marching (okay, clomping) in place, singing, squealing, and trying not to visualize the official video that reminds me of the Teletubbies landscape. My family tried not to look, but you know what they say about train wrecks. You just have to. And then I saw it out of the corner of my horsefly-filled eye...my husband's face looked like a balloon that was taking on too much air. He was holding his breath so as not to explode in laughter.
Whatever. He's just jealous that I can keep a beat regardless of whether or not I'm numb from the waist down. 'Cause I got it like that.
Don't hate, honey...;-)