May 20, 2004

• It’s a bitch!

  Have I mentioned before now that chronic fatigue is “a bitch”? 
  Well, that’s a libelous statement on all female dogs, and a
  pusillanimous euphemism adopted by those who are too timid to say it’s
  a motherfucker and who lack sufficient vocabulary to fully express the
  contemptibility and despicability  of this scabrous, intractible,
  sisyphean quagmire I live in.

  The day started out okay.  Last night when Doug gave me back the
  book I’ve been reading, after having finished reading it himself (we
  were passing it back and forth for a while with two bookmarks in it),
  he said I would like the way it ended.  Before I got up this
  morning, I picked it off my bedside shelf and read the ending. 
  He’s right, and tonight I’ll resume reading where I left off, with my
  pleasure undiminished by having skipped ahead a bit.

  When I got out of bed, I got on the computer to search out the author, and found he has a blog. 
  I also learned there that he has plots blocked out for a new trilogy
  about the Templars.  I can hardly wait!  I hope he doesn’t
  waste any time blogging that could be spent writing books.

  Before I got up from that computer session to get my morning coffee, I checked my
  comments.  [Anam Cara, I'd love to see you again for a brief
  visit.  However, were I to spend "several months each year" with
  you, you would soon tire of my whining and moaning.  I would
  quickly find your hectic and toxic lifestyle too much for me.  But
  thanks for the (nicely qualified) invitation, anyway.  I had to
  wonder what chance, within my lifetime, there is of your getting it
  together. ]  Then I drank my coffee and went to clean the
  remaining debris of the Old Fart’s out of my bathtub so I could take a
  shower (see yesterday’s blog.).

  I found, in addition to the bags of paperback books I knew were there,
  one of his old  hernia trusses with sprung elastic, the cap he has
  been looking for, two bags of his “orphan” unmatched socks, and some of
  my own debris that made it into the tub in the confusion of his moving
  back in last fall.  Amid his clutter was a paint-roller tray
  neatly packed with the roller handle and an unused cover for it, the
  remnant-roll of wallcovering from Doug’s room, some hardware I’d been
  trying to find, and other things leftover from our remodeling of
  Greyfox’s old room last summer.  In the bottom of the tub was a
  scattering of Pro-Mix plant growing medium, and one little dried-out
  marijuana leaf.

  The thought crossed my mind that I could smoke it.  Yeah, right…
  it is to laugh.  It has been almost a year since I quit
  smoking.  I don’t miss it.  In fact, quitting the weed was so
  damned easy, and the absence of the abominable munchies made abstinence
  from sugar, wheat and other such poisons so much easier for me, that I
  have not missed it at all this whole year.  I was never addicted
  to it, never had withdrawal symptoms or cravings during the extended
  periods when I went without it over the thirty years of my intermittent
  use.  My books suggest that this places me in the group whose
  brain chemistry is such  that cannabis acts as a stimulant on us
  rather than as a relaxant or sedative.  Greyfox, and some others
  of those in our recovery groups, are obviously in that second
  category.  He is deficient in endorphins and enkephalins, and has
  to take one other set of amino acids to correct that imbalance, in
  addition to taking the same set of other aminos that I take for
  mine.  But I digress….

  As I swept up the debris, leaning over the tub, the “asthma” hit
  me.  As I understand it, asthma is a distinct entity and different
  from the dyspnea of myalgic encephalomyelopathy/chronic fatigue
  immunodysfunction syndrome, which I have.  But asthma was one of
  my early misdiagnoses, and medications for asthma are the only things
  medicine has offered me that I will take.  They offer me pain
  meds, too, but that way lies addiction and fuzzy thinking and a lot of
  other crap I don’t need.  I can stand the pain for as long as it
  takes my mind to make it go away.  I do keep digressing, don’t
  I?  Anyhow, I tottered back out here to sit and catch my breath,
  got another cup of coffee, a glass of water and my “empty-stomach”
  meds, and decided to blog since I apparently am not fit enough for a
  shower yet.

  I realize that part of my problem this morning is low blood
  sugar.  For years, my first act upon arising was to eat, usually a
  cinnamon roll with my coffee, to get the blood sugar up.  That
  blood-sugar spike and the resultant drop in an hour or so set off a
  disastrous addictive chain of binge eating that was almost the death of
  me.  My very first blog ever was about that, and here I am
  digressing again.

  Now I’m eating in a more reasoned pattern and making healthier choices
  about what I eat.  Since my “med” routine includes a handful of
  pills that must be taken on an empty stomach and are best taken in the
  morning, I just endure the hypoglycemia for an extra hour or so each
  morning.  Included in that first handful of morning pills are the
  amino acids to balance my brain chemistry.  Also included is my
  daily dose of NADH, a co-enzyme that helps my cells synthesize ATP,
  which increases my available energy.  The two weeks since I
  “remembered” and got back on the daily routine of this self-medication
  (I could always seem to remember to take the prescribed asthma meds,
  but balked at the handfuls of nutritional supplements), I have been
  thinking much more clearly, and the amount of work I’ve gotten done
  suggests that my body is likewise functioning better. 

  Experience taught me not to try swallowing that handful of pills on a
  totally empty stomach immediately upon arising.  They tend to come
  back up if I do.  So, I have a cup of coffee and wake up a bit,
  and then I take the pills….  I’ve done that now and my second
  cup of coffee is about half empty now, and my bladder is all the way
  full.  My breathing is back to normal again, too.  I think I
  can make it to the bathroom….
  —-
  …aah, bless that little bucket that keeps me from having to go out
  into the mosquitoes (or the snow) to the outhouse every time.

  I still feel a bit shaky and think I’ll just sit a while until enough
  time has passed since taking the aminos so that I can have my morning
  muffin.  This latest batch of gluten-free muffins is almost
  gone.  I’ll be baking again in a few days.  This batch, as
  they all do, contained a mix of flours from among the collection on my
  pantry shelves (sorghum, tapioca, brown rice and almond meal if I
  remember right), and a few extras for the extra flavor that makes them
  interesting.  I had only one black banana on hand at the time, so
  I thought I’d put some raisins in.  While looking for an open box
  of raisins, I found a single-serving snack pack of unsweetend
  applesauce.  That went in, and since I never did find an open box
  of raisins, and hesitated to open a new box when I had an aging open
  bag of prunes, this batch has little chunks of prune in it.  Say,
  when did prunes become “dried plums” anyway, and why are raisins not
  likewise “dried grapes”?

  Oh well, I’ve maundered enough here for now.  I can read a few of
  your recently updated blogs before I get up to eat, fill my shower bag
  and get clean before hitting the road.  I’ve got to remember to
  boil some eggs for the Old Fart, too.  He can’t boil eggs in his
  microwave.
  

  • 4:23 pm
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