This weekend was craziness. I can’t remember what I did on Friday, at all, other than shopping for stuff for Mike’s cake. Saturday I went to New York Comic Con with Mike and Rob (and tweeted about it over at @freakingbookwrm). NYCC was freaking awesome. It sucked getting up at 5am on a Saturday, but being in NYC and being at a comic convention totally made up for it. I’m going to write a more in-depth post over at Freaking Bookworm, so I’ll let you know when that is up. For now, just know that it was awesome!

Jayne tee!

Unfortunately, around 5pm, all of my joints from my lower back down started aching in a not so awesome way. Apparently all of the walking — man, was there a lot of walking — aggravated whatever the hell is wrong with me. So I started limping around, and so did Mike, because he has bad knees from playing football or something. When the convention was over, we decided we were going to get a cab. Rob was the only one not in pain. I knew we’d never get a cab on a Saturday night in NYC, but Mike for some reason thought it would be easy. Needless to say, we didn’t, and ended up walking the two or so miles back to Grand Central. It was a beautiful night in the city, with all of the people going different places and us walking down Broadway, but every step sent shocks of pain through my body. Rob walked ahead, I walked several paces behind him, and Mike walked several paces behind me.

If we had all been able to walk, we would have made it in time for the next train. We ended up waiting another hour, and then standing during most of the train ride, because apparently Metro-North does not give a shit how many people are on the train.

The second I got home and up the stairs — three flights, hooray — I just burst into tears. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried while peeing, complete with running mascara. I HAVEN’T CRIED THAT HARD IN A LONG, LONG TIME*. It would have been a great night for Tramadol, but I didn’t have any, so I took Costco Tylenol instead and went to bed hoping I could at least make Mike’s birthday cake in the morning.

Sunday morning rolled around, and it was Mike’s 26th birthday, so I dragged myself out of bed and limped around the kitchen baking. I discovered that if you try to get the cake out of the pan before it’s cooled down completely, it’ll break. A lot.

I cut it across the middle so I now had two layers, put the vanilla pudding filling on the first layer, and flipped the very broken second layer on top using a cutting board and spatula.

This cake was a total hot mess, but it was so. freaking. good.

Then I filled in all of the cracks with frosting.

Cream cheese frosting makes great spac.

I used a whole can of frosting on this cake, people. When I first frosted it, you couldn’t even tell anything was wrong with it.

The sides don't need frosting. Really.

By the time I got dressed and we were ready to leave, the filled in frosting had sunk in. It still tasted great, though!

I was still in pain and limping both Sunday and yesterday. I’m a little sore still today, but at least I can walk.

It’s frustrating that I keep running into limitations with this disease. If I knew what it was, would I know my limitations and not have to find out the hard way? I don’t want limitations, but I’d really like to have a better idea of what is going on with my body.

I started this post a little over three hours ago and now I have no idea where I was going with it. It’s time to go to bed.

On a completely different note, I did some writing today and finished my short story, “Outlaw Love Story.” It’s fourteen pages long and I’m really proud of it. I can’t wait to take it to my writers’ group on Thursday! Could it be that I’m going to get into a daily writing routine?

*Unless, of course, you count Popi’s memorial service.