As I contemplate the hilarity of this, instead of pain, creativity begins to flow. I walk duck-footed to the study to grab the tired, key-banging laptop. Fingers are stiff and the silver box is heavy, but I lug it and the wood lap desk to bed. Heating pad toasty, and a still snoozing pup is at my side. He’s belly-up with paws comfortably limp. Instead of my envy for his perfect rest, he should be envious of me enjoying the grainy, raw thrill of this 1967 TV performance of The Doors.
I am grateful that most of the pain I feel from Undifferentiated Connective Tissue Disease is more of an insidious type that wakes me gradually. Though mine is always present, I cannot fathom those who have no respite from instense arthritis pain. I pray that my pain remains more casual. At times it’s a creeping fog of cold pain that reaches each distant limb and digit. Sometimes I have waves of pain, more often a constant ache that migrates. Still, it is enough that it distracts me, or makes even my sarcasm go silent. That’s a travesty, but humor remains my default so here I am. Me and Jim, before dawn.