I have been putting in more hours at my part time job lately, and finding if feels like how things were a year ago when I was working full time. I feel too run down to do anything on a day off. If I finally have enough motivation on my day off, I run errands and usually end up overdoing it.

My arthritis is letting me know that its’ presence is still there. Lately, it has been a challenge to be able to do an easy task, such as being able to put my hair in a ponytail. I put up such a fight with the arthritis in my hands and shoulders that it becomes a wrestling match to the point that I become sweaty and struggle to breathe at a normal pace. So, for those types of days I need to just remind myself to not take it too seriously. Sometimes it’s easier said than done. When I have a bad “hair” day, I need to focus more on things that I can control, such as my makeup and being able to pick out a sharp outfit to make up for the mop on my head. And I’m not sure if this just happens to me, but I really dislike going to see my specialist when I am sore. They make me feel as though I am stupid and really don’t know what is going on with my body. I will mention how sore a fussy joint is and they will look at it, squeeze it, tell me that it is not inflamed, and then move on to something else.

In December, I received a nice, bright, yellow letter from Social Security stating they will send me another letter letting me know when they have picked a date for me to have a hearing in front of a judge for my case. Weeks have slowly gone by as I anxiously looked in the mailbox every day only to be disappointed by never seeing anything else from Social Security. The other day I called my attorney and her paralegal (I assume that is her role) returned my call. I asked how long this part of the process takes and she told me twelve months. Twelve months?!? I asked if there was anything I could do to make the process go faster. She mentioned unfortunately there was nothing, unless my condition became worse. At this point I begin to feel a little hopeless. I don’t know if I can last another twelve months. I don’t even have the slightest clue what is motivating me to keep fighting and trying.

My 30th birthday is coming up next month and I know my body isn’t what it used to be. I made a promise to myself, to my body, to stop drinking pop by my 30th birthday. No more pop-toxin for me. There is a good chance I may slip and have one; it is to be expected. I love drinking it so much that I know I can’t quit that sweetness cold turkey.