***WARNING: DON’T READ – unless you know what the Spoon Theory is***
This is your warning, Gentle Reader. I don’t normally do whining posts, but I have to today, to be true to my ‘calling’ to write about CFS. Don’t read – just because I have to write. [For the foolish curious: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/%5D
This blog serves as a diary of sorts, of the things I’m thinking about and living with and doing. Maybe I’ll WRITE this post – and not post it.
Maybe I’ll print it out and reduce the pages to confetti, as that’s what it will deserve.
It’s a beautiful spring day, 62°, sunny, clear, and the daffodils and hyacinths are blooming, with the forsythia ready to pop like popcorn into strident yellow by the back fence. I want nothing more than to try a walk, or, better still, a bike ride. I would love to walk around the yard and fill vase after vase with daffodils, or at least one.
But I can’t afford it: I not only have no spoons, but I need some for tomorrow, and I am running a debt at usury from the activities of the past week.
I function best with 3-5 naps a day, leaving the house at most 2-3 times per week for no more than two hours counting travel time, and eating no carbs (I mean none – fewer than 20 g/day).
Instead, over the past ten days, I have left the house eight days, with two of those days having two ‘outs’ each, and many of them have been for far longer than two hours. Naps have suffered: I have been running on nerve, and I have been practically incoherent by the time I got home.
I have roughly stayed away from the goodies. Good for me. Psychologically, horrible for me. Yay, me.
Looking BACK, I can see it was all MY fault.
Some of these events were regular ones, others extras I took on knowing the risk, and the remainder were unhappy accidents of timing.
But it didn’t hit me until today that the reason I’m unable to focus is my own damn fault, and that there has been nothing I could or can do about it but wait for it to pass.
And if I go out for a 15 minute bike ride the two scheduled events for tomorrow won’t happen.
So I can’t afford it.
I’m going back to hermit mode, to taking naps over and over, to doing all the things which will eventually return my writing brain and a wee bit of physical energy to me.
The magnificent Triduum and Easter services were worth it, and next time I won’t plan long-delayed medical visits for right after, and I won’t go out to dinner with a friend who needed to talk, and I won’t keep up my promise to the Folk Music Society to attend the events (just because I’m president this year).
NOTE: Attend only – I perform no useful services (except that the previous president was never seen).
At least it’s pretty out the window. I should have planted the daffodils where I could see them from inside. Way back when I wasn’t sick. Amazing to think those daffodils have been with me longer than my children.
Many of us have it far worse, so, whine over.
And all you healthy people out there: take a bike ride for me.
And don’t complain: if you read this far it was by choice. I warned you.
And excuse me while I go take the next
nap mental dialysis treatment.