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It's like being in Flowers for Algernon

Last night I made a mistake at cards I had not made in probably 30 or more years and I burst into tears when I discovered what I had done. I realize it may be the urticaria flareup making my brain mushy (forgotten show dates? forgotten dance shoes? inability to remember how to follow suit? inability to strategize for nearly any game? and let's not mention work), but I felt horribly humiliated that I had done something painfully stupid in front of other people ... and that it made me look like a cheater.

Fucking fucking fucking fucking chronic illness bullshit. I realize this could just magically go away at any time and I really wish it would instead of showing me just how much I'm its bitch. At least I've had the benefit of eglantinedreams to let me know it is the illness having its fun with me and not, say, super early onset Alzheimers.

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