There's nothing me and 50 feet of oxygen tubing can't do!

Dare I say it?

I woke up this morning and I felt motivated.

What. The fuck?

Seriously, I shot out of bed, had a shower (albeit an increbily long one that used up all the hot water and clogged the drain so it was really more of a shower bath) and ever since then the rest is history.

Let's see what I've accomplished today, shall we? I cleaned the coffee table, dusted it, and dusted 2 other end tables and also cleaned the kitchen counter off. I did 2 loads of laundy. I called the vet with an inquiry about joint meds for our dog. I vaccumed the entire main floor which consists of the kitchen, family room, laundry room, hallway, bathroom, dining room, and living room. I also vaccumed all the mats too. The house looks spotless and quite sexual honestly. And if anyone dare comes home and messes it up, then I'm never feeling motivated ever again!

I sucked it up and wore my O2 to do it. I must say this, as my friend Karen pointed out to my today in an email, that you really don't know how much you use your lung function for until it's gone. For example, vaccuming. It completely wipes me out. After I go back and forth in a room a couple of times with it, I need to stop and sit and catch my breath, and also wait for the feeling in my legs that i'm going to fall over to pass. Once it does, I get back up and go again. It's the best form of physio out there and I hate it, but at least i'm doing something right?

So yes, I did the whole main floor in a little over an hour with the help of my O2 - all 50 feet of it! It was going well until my O2 tubing decided to get wrapped and tangled in the vaccume hose and my oxygen supply got cut off. I then got mad and threw myself on the floor and fumbled and swore at it. I pulled and i tug and I screamed and I coughed, and eventually i said, "fuck it" and i disconnected it, instead of wrestling my way through it.

It was then that I realized that I should probably be on O2 all the time. I realized that "Shit, I'm vaccuming, and i need O2." It was the first time I admitted to myself that I'm sick.

There. I said it. I'M SICK. I'm not fucking normal. I have a lung problem and I have serious respiratory issues.

Leave it to cleaning the house to bring this to my attention. Forgive me but I've been living in dreamland for all this time apparently.

Oh well, despite my nirvana moment I am choosing not to stigmatize myself with the thought. I think 'sick' as in something that will pass, like a cold, or herpes. This is forever. Oh well. Like I said to Karen, at least my arms and legs and brain still work. I can't really complain.

That is all for today. I am off to listen to Josh Groban's Christmas album and revel in his sexiness.

*drools*