A real bloodbath°. Then, I have an allergic reaction to maintenance meds that had me looking like Moe Szyslak° from The Simpsons°. 😶 Mere weeks after that, I fall (knee first) so hard on a tile floor that my knee swells four times its normal size and STILL looks like it belongs on someone else's body. 🤢 Then finally, on my way to work this past Tuesday morning, I accidentally crash my truck into a telephone pole, possibly totaling it, which left me with an ugly, hickey-like seatbelt abrasion on my neck and a golf ball size lump in my right breast from the impact. 🥵 Damn, it isn't even July yet! It appears I have a jones for beating the hell out of myself. 
I wonder how many limbs I'll still have by December. 😒 This year hasn't only been physically taxing, it's been pretty emotionally taxing too. Frankly, I prefer getting physically beat-up over being emotionally beat-up. I'm not sure if my painful physical injuries are some cosmic reflection of my inner self or some sort of punishment for my past indiscretions. 
Who knows? I'm sure the real reason for my battered body and soul will come to light in due time. ✔ I just hope I'm still alive by the time the truth is revealed. At the rate I'm going now, that doesn't seem very likely. Okay, I admit, I don't have a real direction for this entry. 🔂 I guess I'm just hoping that by memorializing my plight in my therapeutically healing blog, I'll somehow stop my rapid descent into pain (literally).
I'm really having some major struggles but all-in-all, things could be much worse. Even so, this has been no cake walk for me. 😔 I'm battered, bruised and downright broken. As I've always attested, I'm a pretty strong chick but I'm just not sure how much more of a beating my body can take. Even sexy superheroes like me have limits. I'm really struggling with being injury-free and losing the battle at almost every turn. And to think, I have 6 more months of this to go. 
If things continue to go the way they're going for me, I'll be lucky to still have my eyesight and all my motor functions by Thanksgiving. 🍗 I guess it's time to put my first payment down on that Hoveround°, service dog 🦮 and a year's supply of pain killers. Hence the silver lining in this dark cloud. 🌤 Pain pills are a pitiful klutz' best pal, so is accidental death and dismemberment insurance. 
📑 
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Seriously y'all, it's all good. I'm SuperChick, remember?
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And Lord knows, I can't do anything if I'm not inspired. 
Despite the mostly depressing content of this entry, this is not another pathetic 
See, I found inspiration in the most unlikely of places. 
On my still-dark, mad-dash morning drive to work, I usually drive at top speed. 
Even at that fevered pace, the same really raggedy old truck always speeds past me, like I'm sitting still. His GMC truck is probably from the 80s or 90s but it looks like it's from the 16th Century. No matter, it definitely looks like it's seen better days but that thing is FAST! Whatever's under that hood, would put any of the characters from that movie The Fast and the Furious to shame. 
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Just about every morning we do our dance, crazily whipping in and out of traffic but I can never keep up with him. On this particular Speed Racer morning, we happen to stop together at the same stop light, just me and him, he in the left lane, me in the middle lane. As I got ready to pound my pedal at the exact moment that light turned 
I'm sandwiched between two testosterone-driven dudes ready for a real road war. They revved their engines, never directly looking at each other (but they kinda were). You could tell, I was no longer considered a participant in this driving battle. Even so, I giggled in anticipation as I turned my head from side-to-side as I continuously looked at each of them, wondering what was gonna to happen when that light changed. 
Then, the light turns 
The old '57 Chevy wasn't too far behind me but then again, he couldn't match my driving skills (or jalopy driver's). 
Then I think; 
Yes, you got it right, I just knowingly compared myself to an ugly old truck but that's how I feel sometimes. Freely admitting it is the first step. 
