I have a lot to say, and I have a lot of great ideas. I’m attracted to anything made with fine cotton, wool or silk. I enjoy establishments where fabric on bolts and bins is abundant and stacked in on or around other items which can be sewn, glued, taped, beaded, or otherwise.

Just to tell you about me without letting the world know too much about me, is quite a challenge at the moment.  I’m female. I’m 40, 41, 42 43.  I’m a military wife (Army spouse) and mom of 2 kids.  I love to quilt and have a huge stash (a/k/a fabric collection for you non-quilters).

I wish to hide from the world that I have a disease that I cannot seem to find time for in my life.  I think I’m mourning for the simple things I used to do without preplanning.  I sometimes feel like everyone knows about my secret disease when I walk into a room.  For the few that do know, I feel like they are always sizing me up to see if I look different from the last time we crossed paths.

It hurts my feelings and slaps me in the face–for some ridiculous reason–when people tell me that I do not look like I have MS.  It pains me as an insult would because although I do not ever want to look like I have any affliction and am terrified of the possibility or probability of actually looking like I have one, that so many are unaware that real, normal-looking people who are not slurring their words can have MS.  When I hear someone tell me that I do not look like I have MS, although relieved, it confirms to me that someday I could.  I know: sounds redundant, foolish, silly, and nervous with anxiety of what may never even happen.

I do not want to look the part of having any illness, and out loud I say that I will never be at that point, but inside it is a very vivid fear that I have.


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