"I hate my life" sorta

These words flew into my mind unbidden shortly after I whacked my face on the shower hardware this morning.

They are untrue, of course. Parts of my life, I know, are downright enviable. What else can you say about being able to nap for several hours in the afternoon on weekends? I could not ask for better family and friends. I am even lucky that my Friedreich's ataxia is not as bad as it might be.

None of that mattered, though, as I felt my face for blood (there was none) and sat back in my shower chair to gather my wits, which were scattered all around the shower and threatening to disappear down the drain. At that moment, I did hate my life.

I hated that I can't lean in a shower chair safely. I hated that I have to use a shower chair and can't stand in a shower and feel the water cascade down my body. I hated that I don't have three arms so I could steady myself, while the other hands held the handheld shower and the washcloth. (Just trying to lighten the mood.)