I have a large smear of dirt on my knee and an icebag on the other one. While jumping on a shovel last weekend I did...something and am limping around right now. I only mention it because I am enjoying the symmetry of ice and dirt.
There comes a time in life when you become SO BORED with your own broken bits you could scream. I think that this moment is when progress occurs? At least in therapy and I think with physical adaptation too. I've been reading Kate Davies for several years - long before she had her stroke, though I like her writing more now. And although what she is working with is very different than what I am, there have beens days when her simple courage at keeping going have definitely sturdied me up.
I blew off freinds last night - it looks on facebook as though they had a nice time but I just couldn't bear it - the press of people in a bar, the noise, and the inevitable one cocktail too many and losing half the weekend to getting myself back together again. I have an inflammatory disease. It's very hard to acknowledge that to myself, to admit that it's a factor. But alcohol...and sugar and potatoes and chicken and and and ...are all inflammatory and when I indulge I pay and pay and pay. Sometimes it's worth it but I'm learning to pick my moments a little.
So I listened to the rain and watched something foolish and practiced flicky eyeliner like a teenager and this morning I got up and fed the roses and the cat and the houseplants and deadheaded the dianthus and geraniums and am making a grocery list. I'm going to make a salad and a buckwheat/almond/chocolate cake to take to a dinner tonight and I'm happy I think. Who you turn out to be in so different from what you think you'll be, you know?
A year ago I would have moaned that I was old and boring and been upset, but what I HAVE learned is that I am neither of those things. It's just that when you have to ration your resources a little you have to really really know what you actually want.