October 29, 2004

• break time –

  or breakdown time

  Lately I’m pushing the envelope, made radical changes in my lifestyle,
  trying to gain some independence or at least see if that’s
  possible.  Instead of following my body’s instincts and just
  veging out after yesterday’s trip to town, I let a different part of me
  call the shots and I got to work on cleaning the worktable so I can do
  some readings, make some jewelry, maybe make some money.

  I’m scattered.  Mind fog is one of the symptoms of chronic fatigue
  and “fibromyalgia” or ME/CFIDS.  First thing I noticed was that
  I’d put a basket of new squash in the area on the table that I’d
  already cleared, so I had to move it.  Decided the coffee table
  was the place for it, but first had to clear space there.  That
  requires a complete cleaning and rearranging there, of course. 
  Now there are three baskets of squash and one of apples on my bed, and
  a mess of rocks, candles and the usual debris still on the coffee table.

  After continually bumping into a big storage tub Greyfox scrounged and
  gave me yesterday to bring home, I decided the place for it was under
  the worktable.  That necessitated cleaning out the mess of empty
  cardboard boxes, egg cartons, etc., under there.  The gate leg of
  the table was in the way then.  The tub is too wide to go around
  it or slip through the space in the middle of it.  I had to fold
  the leg.  That meant I had to move everything off that end of the
  table.  Some of it got dealt with:  either thrown away or put
  away.  The rest, including the gooseneck high intensity light on
  its lead-weighted base, got moved to the other end of the table.

  Before I could put anything even semi-permanent under there, I had to
  clean the floor (obsessive-compulsive Virgo here).  Thought about
  getting the mop.  It’s an old string thing that is very efficient
  with my industrial mop bucket with the foot-powered wringer. 
  Without the bucket and wringer, my grip strength and my wrists are too
  weak to wring out the mop.  I don’t know where the bucket is,
  could be gone for all I know.  Last time I wanted to mop I asked
  Doug to bring in the bucket.  He said, “there’s a hole in
  it.”  End of discussion.  I didn’t bother to explain that the
  hole was the most likely reason I have that bucket, probably the reason
  the previous owner threw it into the dumpster I found it in.  That
  time,  I used a “disposable” plastic hospital washbasin, scrounged
  from a different dumpster, and wrung and stomped the mop as dry as I
  could, and left the bathroom floor to dry out in its own time.

  This time I grabbed some paper towels and spray cleaner and crawled
  under the table.  Then Koji had to go out, was jumping up on the
  door, frantic to get out there and bark at some disturbance in the
  distance.  Thank the gods and goddesses that I’ve taught him to go
  out there to bark.  I crawled out to let him out before the
  training broke down — that’s part of our agreement.  I mean, the
  dog has to bark, so I have to let him out or he’ll do it in here. 
  My legs were trembling with fatigue and burning from the accumulated
  lactic acid.  I slept only about four hours last night, par for
  the course after a fatiguingly active day.  As I crawled back
  under the table, my muscles were crying for relief.

  Then Koji was crying to get back in.  By the time he was in and
  was rewarded with his biscuit for coming back, I was crying.  Back
  there under the table, blubbering and weeping, smearing dirt around on
  the floor, trying to reach a clean paper towel without crawling back
  out, I knew I had to take a break.  There were three or four
  people at one time that I might have called to vent my frustration and
  get a little sympathy.  They’re dead now and Xanga’s what I’ve got.

  Now I’ve got to go eat something.  The Old Fart says to watch my
  blood sugar.  That’s wise advice and I need to follow it.

  • 5:41 pm
  • 11 Comments