Happy Pain Day to me

Oh, the next several days will be fun. No, wait, what's the opposite of fun? Not fun.
In the middle of the night, being unable to sleep, I kept hearing noise and music coming from the living room. So I went to the stairs and began to descend with the intention of asking my roommate to turn the music down, as it was one in the morning and Adam and I had to be up at six to get Penelope to the vet at seven for her spay appointment. And I slipped. And I crashed down. And I slid. Bump, bump, thump, ow ow ow, down the carpeted stairs. I managed to grab the banister halfway down, cling to it, and stop myself from potentially landing on my head. I called to my roommate to please turn the music down and limped back upstairs. Turns out, he was playing his guitar and couldn't play any quieter. Also, he was drunk and possibly forgot what I'd asked. I tossed and turned, now in excruciating pain, and finally fell asleep at one-thirty. My dreams involved watching scary zombie movies, peeking through my fingers, with my mother, who had a head cold. Another dream involved eating chicken roasted in goji berry juice, from a Chinese restaurant that had just opened in DC's Chinatown, where I worked. The chicken was drenched in goji juice, and injected with it, and surrounded by goji berries like decorations. Every time I ordered the chicken I got a free bottle of goji juice. So the dream stretched into days, and I'd eat lunch at the Chinese restaurant every day, just to get that goji juice. It was very affordable, too. I woke up two hours later, tasting chicken and wondering if I should get more chicken at lunch, before realizing it had been a dream and there was no goji juice-soaked roast chicken with free goji juice, damn it. I went back to sleep disappointed.
Alarm went off at six, and Adam and I spent twenty minutes looking for Penelope. I found her in the bathroom. Hiding in plain sight. We dropped her off at the vet, where she'll be overnight following her girlparts surgery. Adam dropped me off at the metro. I napped restlessly and woke up just in time for my stop at Gallery Place.
I'm struggling to contain frustration. At humanity, for often being stupid. At people who call Libertarians "abominations." At myself, in general, for often not doing everything I can and should be doing to help make things easier. At (and for) my roommate, who hasn't paid rent since November because his paychecks have been meager through no fault of his own, although he's looking for another job, and who needs to help more with housework, who stays up all night on many nights, who often forgets to shut the front door and turn lights off, and who is doing so well in his life but needs to remember the little details; I love him dearly, no matter what, but still, frustrations.
And so now I am in some awful pain, but I'm smiling. I'm making the most of it. My left leg is on fire, my right knee feels wrenched, and I'll be limping for a while. But it's not worse, I'm not badly wounded, I'm doing just fine. I'm taking painkillers and anti-inflammatories.
So it's okay.

Mrs. Brightside

Upon checking myself in the bathroom mirror, I discovered a lovely, massive bruise forming on the back of my left thigh. The whole leg feels a bit numb, which means I most likely hit the sciatic nerve, which means oh joy, more sciatica flare-ups. When I get home I'm taking the homeopathic arnica pills and applying the special massage oil and lotion which both contain arnica (and tamanu and hypericum and helichrysum and sea buckthorn, etc).

In honor of the goji chicken dream, lunch today was a chicken sandwich.
And I have goji juice at home. It's from Puritan Sale; a 32-oz bottle for seven dollars each. I'd ordered four bottles, with shipping for a dollar, and since a bottle is usually thirty dollars, it was like getting four for the price of one even with shipping. Like most brands, it's cut with other juices. But unlike most brands, those other juices are awesome: pomegranate, blueberry, and aronia. No other brand I've seen has that, only pear and apple. Pomegranate, blueberry, and aronia juices are phenomenal juices, right up there with goji. Therefore, the Puritan brand is the best in my mind. If I couldn't get the pure, one hundred percent goji juice, this is the brand I'd buy over all others (hey, four for one deal too). Besides, pure goji juice is such an acquired taste. It tastes like a mix of tomato, carrot, and orange juice. I like it mixed with other juices no matter what people say, because they'll say that diluted is crap compared to undiluted, because they want to make money. Really, it depends on how much goji they use.
Also, if I drink two ounces every day, those four bottles will last me two months, as opposed to one bottle lasting two weeks. Thirty dollars every two months, or every two weeks. Not a hard choice.

Also, I am reading the latest paperback edition of Good Omens, the one with the introduction and the interviews with Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, and it's making me so happy. And in the cafeteria, there was a box of assorted chocolates, so I had a dark chocolate espresso candy, and a dark chocolate red wine candy. My sandwich was delicious: Grilled chicken panini with parmesan, sun-dried tomatoes, and basil pesto. Yay.

I need a wall. Or something to strangle.

So, guess what?
Penelope was already spayed. They had already cut into her before they realized she had no uterus.
They did find ringworms, though. They treated the ringworms. But there was no actual surgery beyond the cutting and sewing up.
So now, when Adam goes to the vet tomorrow to pick her up, he will have questions. Like, why couldn't they see the inevitable scar on her belly (granted, we looked when they shaved her during the very first check-up and even we couldn't see it), why couldn't they have performed a test prior to surgery to make sure she actually had a uterus, will they charge us less because they didn't actually perform the procedure, etc. No really, somebody tell me. I need to make sense of this, and be rational. My husband is extremely unhappy.
He is also extremely unhappy because he went to Virginia Beach and back -- nine hours -- in a van making horrible noises, and he had to kick it and punch it to make it stop. He had a vicious headache.
I'm extremely unhappy because of the Penelope thing, and because my husband has had a sucky day, and also my injury from falling down the stairs which isn't getting better. We are both also extremely unhappy because of a few other things that I won't mention here; suffice to say I'm tired of it all and I've had enough and it's going to stop, and I am finally going to step up and stop acting like a victim, because gods damn it, it's time to grow up already.
So. We have eaten dinner, and we are going to watch a bit of television. And then we are going to do some laundry. And then we are going to make the bed, and clean the bedroom. And then we are going to collapse onto the bed, in a heap and tangle of limbs, and just hold each other and breathe. And breathe.
Because if we don't keep breathing, we may start killing people.

Yeah.
So.
How was YOUR day?

*beats head against wall repeatedly*

Somebody say something funny. Laughter kills pain, after all. And makes me want to not beat things.