I'M MADE OF GLASS THAT HAS BEEN SHATTERED AND GLUED TOGETHER COUNTLESS TIMES!

Tomorrow I see a pain specialist. I saw one for about two years when I lived in Washington, D.C. I recently moved home because I couldn't hack it at my job because I couldn't think clearly and quickly -- FibroFog! -- and was given the option of quitting or being fired. I chose to retire. I packed up my things and went to my apartment. I barely left for more than three months, while I spent my savings, investment and retirement account money (it didn't take much time because I'm 29, not because I went on an early-retirement spending spree. Though I may have if I had known a heroin dealer). Finally, I had to admit that it takes the Social Security Administration a little while longer than that to award disability benefits (which I filed for, through a law firm I saw on a commercial during daytime television during my first week of retirement).

[OK, great start! We'll leave it here until next time. When that is will depend on how I feel (superterrific most of the time!) , especially after seeing the pain specialist tomorrow who, I hear, is a piece of shit. Why is he that bit of nastiness? Because he refuses to prescribe opioid analgesics to any of his patients. It's a good thing I don't feel as described in the heading every day! Nor that I've tried every SSRI, Lyrica and what have you, and that narcotics are my only chance to feel at all OK!

Stay tuned for: DOCTOR DOOM! (copyright Please Don't Hunt Down A Person With The Lawsuits Big Company!)

Today's pain: 5 out of 10

--Every post will end with me giving my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. This is my scale, though. For you, wuss, my one would be your Gimme A Gun Hell Would Be Better. Wuss.

Mixx it!