Upon my return from Delaware (where I had a really, really good time this weekend gallivanting around with my dear friends, none of whom look a day older than they did senior year), I arrived home to find that the elevator shaft in my building had flooded, the car itself was stuck in the basement (full of water, according to reports), so it wasn't merely the Delaware Valley that Hanna had her way with. For those of us who prefer to dwell on upper floors, it's been a bit of a tough week. Occasionally, a big rainstorm will knock out stuff in my apartment building, but four days later, we're still without an elevator, I've been schlepping up and down six flights of stairs a couple of times a day and my RA isn't liking it. Not one little bit. My trusty handyman kindly informed me this morning that they expected it to be repaired sometime today - in fact he PROMISED me that we'd have a working elevator by the time I got home tonight. Not that I mind; I mean, sure, it's good exercise, and heaven knows I could use it. But when all is said and done I would really prefer not to have to do stairs. I don't hate stairs per se, but given my tendency to klutz myself on a consistent basis, and the fact that my flaring knees hate, HATE going downstairs (surprisingly, upstairs is a breeze in comparison), it's hard to remind myself that it's not laziness - it's actual pain that puts me in this position. Then again, it's not as bad as it could be - I am, in spite of all this RA crap, young and strong, and not a dog owner - so it's not as bad for me as it is for a lot of people in my building. I keep seeing friends and neighbors huffing up and down the stairs, all annoyed about the elevator, while their dogs (Coco and Biscuit and Callie) look as happy as anything. As much as I would love a happy little puppy in my life, it's a good thing I don't have one this week, since I would be totally screwed. And not in a good way.
Speaking of which, I have elected to forgo my dose of methotrexate this week, since I want to get back on a Monday schedule and last week's Wednesday shot played havoc with it. So I'm not nauseated so much this week, but for some reason, just tired as all hell. I've been going to bed at 9PM, sleeping straight through till 7AM. Again, not a bad thing - just unusual. Especially for this time of year, when I tend to feel more energized than normal.
I think a lot of the fatigue is more about this week than anything else. Seven years ago, that weekend in September of 2001, I also came home from a weekend in Delaware, after visiting the Brandywine Arts Festival (which was rained out this past weekend) and I remember very clearly being there, coming home and really trying to make sense of the direction my life was taking at the time. I actually had a doctor's appointment on the night of Monday the 10th, and I remember telling my doctor that I was really stressed out, and anxious, and wasn't feeling like I was handling things well, because I didn't have a whole lot to be stressed about.
Of course, that all changed the next morning.
But more on that tomorrow.
In the meantime, hopefully things will be looking up (or at least going up) when I get home tonight.
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