Stupid buggers

I should be overjoyed and energetic. The days are getting longer, with little green bits and flowers popping up here and there. Despite seven inches of rain in less than a week, we had an absolutely splendid spell of spring-like weather, without a white flake in sight.

Not long ago, when a summer day was about to hit us full force, I decided that enough was enough, and stopped taking that stupid antibiotic, the one for lymes where you can’t go out in the sun without coming back in within minutes resembling an overcooked lobster. And oh, what a delectable day it was, sitting on the beach in tank top, shorts and happy bare feet, watching my dog romp, gazing at sailboats gliding up the bay, feeling the heat of the sun on what’s left of my body.

That was the last nice day I had, before beginning a dark descent back into an unsteady world of exhaustion. The person I used to be could stay energized for days, sticking to the wet, sideways-slanting deck of a sailboat in a gale with one toe. Despite eight months of treatment, this person I've become still sometimes can't remain upright on level ground, and wouldn't pass a sobriety test despite consuming no alcohol in nearly a year (because booze exacerbates the sick wobbly feeling I live with, that's why-and save the unbalanced jokes, okay?)

I hadn't expected to start falling apart for at least another decade, thinking it would happen gradually enough that there would be plenty of time to get used to the idea of becoming a decrepit doddering dame, instead of the physically strong, able-to-rebuild-a-sailboat-in-a-single-bound-bundle-of-energy that I had been.

I'm still struggling with having been bouncy and active one minute, and flattened the next. Now, it's hard to remove a lid from a jar that's already been opened. What a wimp.

Place your bets-will I get any of my strength back, or will I always be this weak pansy girl who annoys me no end by wanting to sleep all the time?