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It’s been one of those mornings. It started out okay. Hubby had to get up at the crack of the plumber (inside joke) to catch a flight to Austin, which is unusual because it’s usually me dashing out the door while he leisurely takes his time.

Then it went downhill. Hubby came dashing back through the house. He couldn’t find his keys. He had gone with me last night to water aerobics so he was out of his normal routine and had workout bags and wet towels to deal with when we got home. We both searched. No keys. He finally grabbed his spare set of car keys and left for the airport. Hopefully I will beat him home because he can’t get in the house since he doesn’t have a house key. After he left, I took some extra time to search for the keys to no avail.

So now I’m running late and in the middle of drying my hair, my blow dryer committed suicide. Literally. Spit sparks and smoke and just quit. So the whole top of my head is still wet with no way to improve the situation. I get dressed while my short hair sort of air dries. I fluff it as best I can, spray it with super glue hair spray and head out the door. This of course on the day that I wanted to look good as I am spending the afternoon at a seminar.

I bring my breakfast to work with me to get a jump on traffic and, in addition to my breakfast bagel, I brought some leftover soup for lunch. It wasn’t really secured for travel as well as it should have been (since I was in a hurry), and when I had to unexpectedly hit the brakes, both my breakfast bag and my purse when flying forward in the floor of the car. Now my floorboard and my Coach bag are redolent with the rich odor of roasted garlic and Italian sausage.

What’s the good news?

The good news is that there are no RA symptoms in sight. As hectic as this morning has been, if I had been dealing with the stiffness and pain of RA, my morning would have been exponentially worse.

I’ve been tuning into various blogs and have read how other people deal with the pain and other symptoms. Coping mechanisms range from embracing the situation to ignoring it.

I don’t have children (if you don’t count my six nephews and two nieces). And at the risk of offending some people, I believe that abortion should be legally retroactive up to the age of 25. (Just kidding, sort of.) The point is, I tend to see my RA as a mischievous, undisciplined child who occasionally shows up and wreaks havoc on my life. I don’t embrace my RA nor do I ignore it. Just like my suicidal hairdryer, I deal with it when I have to, and go on with the rest of my life in the meantime.

One of these days I will no doubt be a full-time, stay at home mom to this disease. But in the here and now, I babysit this mischievous child as seldom as possible.

Thanks for checking in.