I’m notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I’ll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn’t hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you’re allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.
My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can’t go back. If I post it, I can’t edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it’s too late.
If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.
0732 My first morning blog I believe. I’ve crawled back into bed with my laptop, with various parts of my body unhappy that I forced myself out from under the covers in the first place. For Eastern Canada, it’s been stinking hot and my battery feels drained. That, and my muscles are killing me. Here’s why:
In March, my left quad ‘seized up’. Or something. Not quite sure. Regardless of what it’s called, it has been changing between very sore, sore, and seriously painful. Massage therapist says it’s consistent with spasticity, which would be consistent with the MS theory, but at this point, I’ve taken a break from the medical mystery machine and I don’t really care why. It just is.
The massage therapist did give me a wake up call though. She told me to ‘use it or lose it’. If this is MS, she said it’s important to strengthen the muscles. Although it’s sore, my quad isn’t really being used much. The lightbulb went on for me and so I’ve been using some of my precious energy reserves for strength exercises and have been looking like a complete idiot doing contortions with a foam roller. So now everything is sore. The upside is that it has taken my mind off some of the other symptoms I deal with.
There are many ways to look at this whole ‘mortal coil’ or ‘mortal clay’ thing.
Christopher Reeves wrote that his wife saved his life by looking at him in his hospital bed after his accident and saying “You’re still you and I love you”. Melissa Ethridge wrote about being in the hospital during cancer treatment in excruciating pain. She said something about her realization that she was not just her body. It was something about part of her body could be taken away, and she would still be herself. They both had a point.
If we’re lucky, we all get old. In the process, our bodies change. Getting ‘sick’ just means it happens all at once, or out of the blue, or more dramatically than we had hoped. Where was I going with this? Writing before my second cup of coffee was a bad idea. Oh yeah, body and soul.
I realized yesterday that I was getting really grumpy. I had not made any sawdust in a few weeks, which I figured was part of the problem. However, true to my duty as the household Evil Queen, I blamed everyone else. Sawdust is soul food for me. So as tired as I was yesterday, I fired up my sander outside and sanded some chair parts in the pre-Arthur wind. (Thanks to Monte, I can’t think about this weather now without thinking of Dudley Moore, but I digress.)
Everything still hurts. My quad is doing the funky chicken and the evil little gnomes that zap my legs are in fine form today. But, I made SAWDUST. And when I look in the mirror and ignore the tired face looking back at me and take a look at her eyes, I’m still me.
So yes, whatever is going on with my body is important. Not important enough for me to give up coffee or become vegetarian, you understand, but important nevertheless. My soul on the other hand, and the proper feeding thereof, is essential. That’s what makes me me.
I’ve promised my LJ buddies to lay off the delete button for awhile so I won’t delete this. Besides, rambling is part of who I am also.
And coffee. And MASH re-runs. Oh and lumber hoarding (waaaaalnut) and and…
Oh yeah, and I’m employed too. So getting out of bed is a bit of a necessity.
Happy July 4th. Feel free to be yourselves.
-- No, I don't want to buy the pink hammer.