Excessive heat plus hormones aggravated by MS is an extremely volatile mixture.
It produces a mindset not unlike that of a psychopath.
Thus, I cannot be held accountable for any of my actions or comments in the next couple of weeks. Starting, well, right now.
I know, I look so harmless on the surface. A sweet demeanor to go with that smile? Don’t bet on it.
So don’t look at me askance. Don’t ask me inane questions that truly don’t deserve an answer. Spare me the snide sarcasm that is your weak attempt at humor.
Don’t talk to me about the following topics: Politics, your petty grievances, your adorable ankle-biters, the Mideast, the weather, local government, the debt crisis, gas prices, my problems or your problems.
Those topics not off-limits: Cute animals, cold treats you plan to bring me/share with me and movies/books/TV shows that make good distractions.
It should be said my righteous indignation goes double for random strangers who see me in clear distress with my cane trying to cross a busy street and still have the gall to come up and ask for money. I don’t know their struggle, which may be great, but they can clearly see mine, and yet they feel no compunction to accost me in a weak moment. For such scum, I will not hesitate next time to use my cane for a purpose than it was otherwise intended.
Maybe MS should have made me more sympathetic, but in a way, it’s hardened me. And widened the chasm between me and normal. I feel like I don’t identify with anyone anymore.
It could be my new fresh hell responsible for such malaise. Maybe it’s the heat. Or the hormones.
Maybe it’s me.
No, it’s definitely me.