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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Lily's Blurty:
| Sunday, March 20th, 2005 | |
| 1:05 pm | J: Natalie hates me. Me: aww, sweetie, I'm so sorry J: I guess I should just leave her alone. Me: That's probably best. It was bound to happen sometime and you knew it Jamesie. :( Me: She has you on her deviant art. Tell her to take you down, that's your body, not her property. What a bitch. She can't hurt you enough? J: It's my fault. She doesn't even want to talk to me. Me: Did you tell her you loved her? J: A lot yesterday, but...I guess she doesn't want that. Me: There are lots of other girls who want you, you know, and will treat you kindly and actually act interested in talking to you and wanting to stay in touch with you, because they do want to talk to you, a whole lot. J: I find that hard to believe. I'm terminally ill, it was probably best. Me: You deserve happiness too, just as much as anyone. J: Think we could talk on the phone? Me: Of course we can. I'll call you. New one? I don't have it. J: (phone number) My poor Jamesie :( |
| Sunday, March 13th, 2005 | |
| 10:07 pm | This warrants public entry Me: Do you love her? Him: No Me: Oh............ :( (Really: Oh........:) *does dance* She's: boring not modest enough self-concerned cold So she can't have him. He doesn't love her that way anymore. |
| Sunday, February 27th, 2005 | |
| 9:14 pm | Right, this journal is going friends-only, because it has to. Things'll be under construction until then. Sorta. |
| 7:38 pm | A good poem The Invitation It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful be realistic remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. © Oriah Mountain Dreamer, from the book The Invitation |
| Thursday, February 24th, 2005 | |
| 8:48 pm | Today I went to a new doctor (Fibro Doctor #56872346 #8) and I really like him. He's proposing all sorts of new ideas that no one else has thought of. He's gentle and soft spoken but very brilliant and perceptive and zeros in exactly on what's going on. He also treats me like a human, cool teenager status, not a specimin or the day's catch dangling on the end of my mom's fishing rod. I'm too exhausted to go into much detail but he's taking all sorts of new tests up the wazoo (including testing for heavy metals like Mercury, arsenic, lead, etc.) I'm also supposed to go back in a few weeks to start a round of...stuff. Basically, I get hooked up to an IV (Joy. There's nothing I love more than NEEDLES sticking out of SORE SOFT TISSUE.) and my cells flooded with all sorts of vitamins and minerals and nutrients. This doctor's idea is that my adrenal gland has gone haywire, result of pushing myself much too hard the first 13-plus years of my life. (YOO-HOO. HELLO?! Next time I chew one of you people out to RELAX AND STOP BUSTING YOUR RESPECTIVE BE-HINDS, LISTEN, dammit!) It makes a lot of sense. Essentially, my body has blown a fuse and fibromyalgia is the result. He also believes I have Lyme disease (which he thinks is treatable), and a different kind of thyroid malfunction Wilson's Thyroidism which is hypothyroidism to the fourth power (I think.) Anyhow, I'm not really looking forward to an IV drip two times a week, every week, for the next few. Nothing happens until three weeks from now, when we go back for results and see what's come up. The doctor's office is an hour-ish away. Today we went to this cute little store, where I bought a card (that I plan on framing) that says "Define & claim the life that you want -- and the universe will provide it for you..." Definately something I've been needing to see/hear for a while now. My mommy also bought me a small pewter coin with an angel stamped onto it. It's also where I took the picture of the masks. |
| Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005 | |
| 8:37 pm | Today has not really been a good day. Woke up really stiff, but with a cat-motor idling next to my hip, making silly oogly eyes at me. Everything was half-decent all morning. Until I got into the car with my mom, driving to my therapist. We had a lovely sparring match inside my doctor's office. My mom doesn't understand what it's like and what I'm going through with my fibromyalgia. She's simply replacing me for her brother, who was Buddhist-y and felt that medication was like poison. He eventually died of diabetes. Anyway, if it's possible to miss someone you've never met, I miss him. The problem is my mom's not letting me fight this for myself, she's simply smothering me in her efforts. (Sound familiar? Dave? Partly.) If I try to bring this up to her, her philosophy is "all-or-none": "FINE! Then I'll stay away all day and see how you manage for yourself." No! Please!! I need her help, I've never said otherwise. I appreciate everything she does for me, even when she does too much. Still, she's quite honestly driving me crazy, and no matter how much I try to get her to understand that it doesn't work. I think it never will. My doctor tried to get her to understand today, "You're micro-managing." When I listen to her talk, it's hard for me to believe it. "I'm going to get you better." !!!! Once in my therapist's office, she was "ah-me"-ing about how she succeeded in getting me out of the house despite how tired I was (or something very similar.) I couldn't take it anymore and blurted out, "That's not YOUR success!! That's MINE!" She still can't grasp that she's quite literally making me go crazy. It doesn't change with her, it's like a wheel. Sometimes I'm on top and ok and can let it run off like water off a duck's back. Sometimes, though, I'm underneath and it's taking me all that I have not to go crazy. So many times I've simply burst like a balloon, screaming and crying and practically tearing my hair out. And that's not the worst of it. A week (or two?) ago Katie gave me the opportunity to go to Paris (with day trips to Nice and Monaco and elsewhere) with her, her mom, and her school sometime late March/early April. Of course, some part of me knew that it was a very hopeful idea. Still, my mom vetoed it incredibly harshly, "Paris?! Why don't you want to go to the moon instead?!?!" "It makes me sad that you have no concept of reality" and other such niceties. That's after she originally said "Talk with Dr. P [my therapist]" and I finally convinced her that we needed to talk about France because she was, you know, my mother. Jeeze, really compassionate. And she continued at my doctor's office. It wasn't fun. She was being really nasty and she has no idea how or why. The worst bit is that in December, we were originally trying to get me to go to London and visit Jen. Didn't work out --of course. My mom then asked what Jen was doing over Easter vacation so I could go visit her then, but I told her that I was going to Scotland then. Well... Scotland didn't work out at all because I couldn't get into orchestra daily. I still had the Senior Class Trip to Florida (Disney World) to look forward to which I absolutely clung to. A few weeks later, I get a letter in the mail. School policy won't allow me to go to Florida. When my mom came home, I was lying face-down on the floor, silent, with the letter by my fingertips. I handed her the letter and when she read it, she looked at me and said, "Well...do you want to go to London? Or Paris?" My immediate response (still face-down on the carpet) was "Oh, like December?" She was surprised and indignant. "No....of course not." HA. I love how every single goddamn thing I look forward to does not work out. Ok, if I want to be very down-to-earth, ok, maybe my mom's right. I probably would not do well. But it's fallen in my path so conveniently... I don't see my mom making plans to take me to London, or Paris, or...wherever. God, I'm a spoiled brat aren't I? I still really really hate it how every single thing I look forward to does not pan out. I don't need to recite the entire list of casualties again. If you're interested it's back here. Just add "Paris, France with Katie" as number 10. |
| Saturday, February 19th, 2005 | |
| 11:13 pm | I'm so miserable and intensely angry that I can't speak. I'm just a huge Gordion knot of icky emotion tonight. (Well, I guess every night too.) We watched Pride and Prejudice. James IS Darcy. He would do anything for the girl he loves, he's smart, he's dangerously sexy and brooding, he probably looks just as good in a wet shirt. The movie is so romantic and reminds me of how I would like James to look on me....to have such a "high opinion" of me, and never to withdraw it. It's long, but it's so involving and worth it. I highly recommend it. |
| Friday, February 18th, 2005 | |
| 2:34 pm | Claire: She's all over him, James..encouraging, supportive, he makes her playlists...she comments on every single thing he posts. How romantic! ............This might be a God-send, if she is truly after this boy. She uses a nickname "Tris" so they must be close, and it's bound to happen anytime now. I wish I could stop James' heart from breaking. I wish he knew what I know about her. |
| 2:19 pm | If anyone knows anything about child abuse laws, I could really use your help. PLEASE. Lily: Do you like Sheryl Crow? James: I used to be able to play My Favorite Mistake Lily: I love that song. James: I have a few favorite mistakes. Lily: Me too. James: I'm sorry for ignoring you for awhile Lily: It's ok...there are things we have to say to each other though, you know? James: On the phone? Lily: Yeah, on the phone. James: Okay. The First Cut is the Deepest? sort of thing? Lily: Yeah. James: yeah, I agree. First Cut is the Deepest (Sheryl Crow..stolen from Cat Stevens) I would have given you all of my heart but there's someone who's torn it apart and she's taking almost all that I've got but if you want, I'll try to love again baby I'll try to love again but I know The first cut is the deepest, baby I know The first cut is the deepest 'cause when it comes to being lucky she's cursed when it comes to lovin' me she's worst but when it comes to being loved she's first that's how I know The first cut is the deepest, baby I know The first cut is the deepest I still want you by my side just to help me dry the tears that I've cried cause I'm sure gonna give you a try and if you want, I'll try to love again but baby, I'll try to love again, but I know The first cut is the deepest, baby I know The first cut is the deepest 'Cause when it comes to being lucky she's cursed when it comes to lovin' me she's worst but when it comes to being loved she's first that's how I know The first cut is the deepest, baby I know The first cut is the deepest I love this boy...no, man.... so much. :( And I can't wait for him to know it. |
| Tuesday, February 15th, 2005 | |
| 10:36 pm | "What is love, where did it get me? Whoever thought of love is no friend of mine." These have been a really weird couple of days and a lot has happened. I feel like I'm standing here, looking down an empty hill, following the road with my eyes until it winds away out of sight. Another journey down a long road, no looking back. I'm at a turning point, crossroads --Lily has changed again. It won't be easy and I'm by no means in the clear, it's just one foot in front of the other, I have no doubt I'll get there, wherever "there" may be. Yesterday a lot of things came crashing down on me. Last night, I wrapped my arms tight around me and rocked myself and cried and cried and cried and cried. I had a quasi-nervous-breakdown of sorts and it felt like the morning would never come. I called my therapist and she talked to me softly on the phone for a long time. Then my mom watched me hug my knees tight and sob. 6:12, 6:55, 7:29. Somehow I survived last night and pulled myself through it, one step at a time, one slow minute at a time. I woke up in my own bed this morning; my cat, Anza, was nestled against the back of my knees and purred. Today I talked to a lot of people for a long time, my therapist, my mom, my yoga teacher, Melissa. I sang along to Dar Williams and tears rolled down my face. There's still a vast hollow place inside me, acres and acres of it. I've worked a lot of things through in my mind, or at least partially through. I'm beginning to come to terms with what happened between Dave and me, or, more accurately, what happened with Dave. I'm not going to go in it, we don't need a treatise of what went on. It doesn't mean it still doesn't hurt me deeply, or hasn't (didn't?) completely dismantled me. It means I'm beginning to wrap my mind around it. My emotions still can't get around it, though. It's like sea-sickness, the inner ear tells the brain one thing, and the eyes tell the brain another. The gears don't work together and you feel very sick. I've got a kind of sea-sickness of the mind and heart. I'm nowhere near through mourning the loss of love, or the loss of me. Neither am I through intellectualizing and cognitively figuring out what happened -- why the boy I loved, and who loved me...well, I don't think I should go into it. Let's keep it at "why the boy I loved and the boy who loved me detonated the relationship, and me, and fled." I hope things turn out alright for him in the end, and that he turns himself around. The direction he's heading in is not a good one. I'm also beginning to come to terms with the fact that I'm really in no shape to finish my senior year of highschool this year, or to head off to college next year. I need time to get myself back onto my feet. Even though a part of me hates it and rails against it, it's what I need to do. I need to focus all of my energy and strength on pulling myself up by my bootstraps. I need to get myself wholly better and come back full force. No half-live limping weakly along anymore. I may go to a wellness retreat, or a teen residence program. I'm willing to try anything to get me back. I know one thing that would get me back, and that is having the love and trust I put in James be returned. But maybe that's hopeless.. The last thing I wanted to say is thank you to all of my friends. When I really need you, you rally for me. Thank you so much. Thank you, Jen and Julie and Brett and Esther and Maddie and Mike and Deb and every single one of you. I love you all. |
| Sunday, February 13th, 2005 | |
| 7:31 pm | Claire knows their names and she is going to drive it home again. She's awful sometimes. I feel like Ever After, when the daughter goes "Mother, what are you doing?" And she says "Making you a princess." It seems like such a dirty underhanded way. I cried when he told me to send her a note. I cried when he told me how wonderful she is and, when I said I was sorry that had to happen, how he said "don't be sorry, she should be so happy. I'm glad she's happy." I asked him why he was so glad she was happy without him, because Claire had obviously been hoping for anger or hatred on his part, but he tried explaning something to me that was so silly sounding. He said when you love someone you just want them to be happy. And now that she was happy, the world was right. I said that was backwards thinking. He said this way she won't ever have to worry about me again, I didn't like that she worried about me. He was trying to be happy but he was having a really tough time. After awhile he asked for some paper and even though his peripheral vision on his left side is nearly gone, he decided to write her a perfect note and told me if I could scan it it would be a great favor. It was the saddest note I have ever seen, and he calls her nicknames! She gets NICKNAMES. IT is vastly unfair. And he says "you are the sunshine in my life" It made me cry when I read it again. I've been so cruel to him. Yesterday the nurses were trying to insert an I.V. I guess and he told his mom to stop them because he felt like he deserved to die for how awful he had been in his life. She did this to him. I am almost to the point where I hate her. She can't possibly love James. It is better this way....it has to be. |
| Saturday, February 12th, 2005 | |
| 6:35 pm | Hyperventilating The world should just end right now. It shouldn't go on anymore. Oh God. I can't stop crying and shaking. WHY HIM? WHY NOW? It won't ever be the same. |
| Friday, February 11th, 2005 | |
| 10:15 pm | Well I didn't go to the dance tonight. It felt wrong. I miss him so much and I know he's probably so weak and so sick and if something happens, I want to be able to tell him it felt wrong to dance with someone else. Do you want to hear something that can be reasonably classified as "pathetic?" I really really love my therapy sessions. Well, not "love"; "strongly appreciate," is more like it. When I'm in there it feels safe. Like life is on hold for a minute while I grab it with both hands and take a good hard look at it, noticing which corners are threadbare and where the ragged edges are. It feels like a safe place, where every wall and ceiling is lined with lead and nothing, not hail, not sleet, not rain, or snow, or wind could get me there. It's not an intellectualized thought. It's simply a feeling, like running back to your blankie when life gets tough, or hugging your worn-out teddy bear. Except mine costs more, and comes with a doctorate. Anyway, when I get in and sit down and start talking, it's like I don't hurt as much. Or maybe it's simply numbed --morphine for the soul. For a single moment in time I'm not on the burner simmering. It stops, for a brief moment. When I get out, though, I'm a nervous wreck. I am completely emotionally raw. Every other session I come out either crying or --quite literally-- shaking. As my mom and I walked to the door out to the parking lot, I was starting to break down into tears. I half-blubbered, "I hate my life. I didn't tell her [my therapist] that. Do you think I should go back in and let her know?" My mom answered, "No...I think she got the picture." I don't really mean to be quite this depressing, really. I'm more pensive than anything. There are a lot of things on my mind. A lot. Maybe too much, but they are all things that need to be dealt with and thought about. I've been in a really introspective, self-examining mood lately. I think it's my dimly glowing inner strength and drive to health. Clap if you believe, Lily, clap. |
| Thursday, February 10th, 2005 | |
| 8:50 pm | There we go, and the wave has crashed down upon me again, pummelled against the grating sand. When you're caught in the undertow, you have to let it take you. If you fight it, you have no strength to swim the miles back to shore. Fighting is your first instinct, but you're only killing yourself slowl |
| 7:10 am | Sleep Deprivation Last night was miserable. I was feeling really ill, nauseous, headache-y, dizzy...just really not well. I could hardly swallow my meds and for a few hours I couldn't get my sleepy pill down. I went to sleep at 12:00, and woke up every hour until 3:00. I was thrashing and I'd spiral in and out of sleep constantly. My muscles were also twitching like mad, and it's a little hard to sleep with your body like a Mexican jumping bean. Finally at 3:00-ish I managed to get my meds down and slept for a small while. With my medicine I only woke up every two hours, with a little less tossing and turning in between. Guh. The only good thing is that I didn't have any nightmares. Probably because I didn't sleep long enough for any. |
| Wednesday, February 9th, 2005 | |
| 8:50 pm | I desperately need a distraction...but James update later Today was exciting (despite being scared for most of it). My mommy and I went to Barnes and Nobles and got some really cool stuff. I picked up Idylls of the King by Alfred Lloyd Tennyson for AP Lit, and which I'm excited about. It's 12 beautiful poems about King Arthur and his knights. I also got two magazines meant for writers, with lots of lovely contests and things to read and such. I'm definately going to look and see if I have anything that could easily be sent to other contests or programs or publications. I've had a burst of creative confidence lately, partially because of my 2nd place prize, and partially because of people's reactions to my stuff. Then, when I came home, there was mad kitty cuddling. (I was out of the house for a whole two hours!. It's terrible, really. The poor abandoned kitty!) I took a nap on a sleeping bag, and my kitty kept looking for ways to lie against me. First she sat with her back against mine, but she was right on the very edge of the cover so that wasn't comfy. After a little while she got up and, what luck! There was a little tunnel (Tunnels are really exciting! Right up there with bags, boxes and ribbons!) and she crawled under the cover and snaked around until she curled up against my legs, where I had them tucked in against me. It was a nice little kitten spot and she put her front paws on my leg and rested her head against them. It was warm and fuzzy and fat and friendly. Teehee. Esther called and in the afternoon we went and painted pottery. It was nice to see her again for the first time in ages. We talked a lot about everything. I love our talks because they're always so abstract and so philosophical. We talked about everything from feminism, mattresses, Brahms and the spontaneous combustion of seniors during senior year. Esther and I have been friends since 7th grade when we stumbled upon eachother in the very first meeting of stage crew. Everytime we hang out and talk I always remember why we are friends. We were talking about the possibility of her taking me with her to the next UU Con, and I'd really love to, but of course, I'd feel rather silly. "Hi...I'm Esther's friend, the slightly eccentric, bashful one...Oh, and I'm not Unitarian either..." The funny thing is, I doubt it'll be less awkward than the times my friend Joanna took me along with her to Bible school... probably much less awkward. It was borderline militaristic actually, "MEMORIZE JOHN 3:14 OR WE'RE GONNA POP A CAP IN YOUR A$$!" (Commandment Number 11: Thou shalt not force Biblical verses upon impressionable young children at gunpoint.) Then I came home and kicked some Roman butt. I finally beat that stupid level of King Arthur. Basically, I got to thinking, "What if the reason I'm not beating this is because, technically, I can't?!" So I restarted the game and kicked a lot of Woad and Roman booty and BAM, first shot I beat the level. I sat there staring at the screen with my jaw hanging open. Now I get to play as Guinevere (teehee!) who runs around in a blue dress shooting arrows. I beat a few more levels and now I'm just seconds short of beating the second-to-last level. Aie! I have to squeeze more time out of the level while sidestepping Mangonels (Whoa. Cross-bow/cannon/bazooka hybrid kind of seige equipment. Can do some serious damage.) and Saxons who won't stay dead. See, you're Arthur on his horsie, and you can knock the Saxons over, but they don't actually DIE. They lie there really still, and if you leave 'em alone they climb back up and knife your horsie in the butt. To check if they're really dead you've got to trample on them a bit while they're lying there....if they scream and bounce a bit you know they aren't. Err. Weren't. It's the scene with the battle on the ice flows, and the video is messing up a little bit. I've seen dead bodies fly into the water, then fly back out again and land on the ice and back and forth a couple of times. It looks like something that needs to be excorcised. Creepy. Maybe they got smart with the Valkeryies who are giving them hell. Heh, I crack myself up. RIGHT. End of embarassing display of extreme dorkism... Get this: She's going to the dance....James is going to flip. And I think I have to tell him. Over and out. |
| Tuesday, February 8th, 2005 | |
| 8:34 pm | How did this happen? Why? Why, God.....please help me. Current Mood:  shocked |
| 2:26 pm | YAY!! I just got an email from my yoga teacher, Melissa, with whom I haven't talked for MONTHS. Ahh, I missed her so much. I might see her on Thursday. I emailed her back and told her everything that's been going on. It made me choke up to see a whole laundry list of all the stuff I have been through. It's slowly dawning on me that this year is as bad if not much worse than last year. I can't talk about it, really. My heart and mind and spirit curl up into fetal position and hide in the darkness when I do. The emergency "Power Off" switch. Anyway, she opened up a brand new Yoga studio of her own. She's an amazing woman. Absolutely astounding woman. She's like a mentor or a cool aunt to me. I am finding new ways to distract myself today. I am just waiting for the good news....he made it out okay....but I haven't heard it yet. Current Mood:  worried |
| 9:09 am | Nightmares I've had one of the worst nightmares ever. I'm still shaking from it. I'm awake, I know it, but it feels like I need to keep moving and working and struggling, trying to save my life and others'. I need to see my little sister. I know she's alive, but I just need to make sure. Wow, it's strange what nightmares do to you. Completely irrational fears (sometimes), but they turn you back into the three-year-old inside. My mom's always said I could make screenplays out of my nightmares. I wonder if Steven King has nightmares up the wazoo. James is going into surgery today. God save him. "I know the river keeps on flowing, but I try to turn the tide; I'm terrified of time....so I cling to what I cannot keep and I cry for what I cannot mend." |
| Sunday, February 6th, 2005 | |
| 10:27 pm | Dreams...and more on J Today was a "meh" kind of day. I had dreams all last night of extreme physical pain and woke up and found out it was true. It was interesting, though, because I seemed to be...Queen Elizabeth? Anyway, I dreamed that I bashed my knee in, and woke up briefly, realizing that, Jesus Christ my knee hurt. Then I dreamed that my leg was gashed open with a sword and I felt it: the biting medal of the blade, the pressure of the sword, the burning and extreme coldness of the wound. Every. Single. Person. With Fibromyalgia can attest to having dreams like those where the pain is very real. I don't know whether the dream sparks the pain or the pain sparks the dream (I suspect the latter) but one particularly bad night I was dodging live fire on a battlefield trying to run back and forth between...forts? On one of my trips I was shot in the back, through the muscle just inside the inner edge of my shoulder blade, and the bullet came out of the valley where my collarbone and shoulder joint connect. I woke up just about then and it was searing pain and it hurt for hours and hours after I woke up. It's like playing a video game: one where you don't choose to play, where you don't know you're playing and where you literally feel the pain of defeat just before "GAME OVER" flashes on the screen and you wake up. Then I struggled for hours trying to get myself out of the house to see the Symphony Orchestra playing La Traviata in concert. I managed to take a shower but I ran out of steam and managed to lie down in the bathtub before I crumpled with exhaustion. It took me a while before I had strength enough to turn off the water and get myself out of the tub. I feel like a puppet; I have extreme dips in my energy level where it seems like someone's pulled the plug and cut the power. No matter where I am or what I'm doing I just simply need to lie down --on the floor quite often, too. Sometimes I can stay awake and rest, but other times I slip into coma again right then and there. I missed my skating lesson yesterday in one of those dips. I could no longer stand, and I lay down on the couch before I had to make the trek up the stairs. The next thing I know, I wake up face down among the pillows half-an-hour after I was supposed to be at my lesson. Anyway, I couldn't make it to the concert. (Surprise, surprise.) I propelled myself out of my shower and plunked onto my bed and needed to rest again. My fatigue is simply why I can't ever guarantee to be anywhere or do anything. Everything is a Herculean feat and even breathing feels Olympic. I also have been having this on-and-off, very painful stomachache for days now. Quite possibly it's from my Lyme disease, but it oscillates and some moments I'll feel completely fine (stomach-wise) and some moments it feels like I'm being knifed in the guts and can barely straighten myself upright. My mom did her handy-dandy pediatrician's physical on me and everything seems to be fine. It's a very strange feeling, and those with fibro will understand. I would never, ever wish for something detrimental to my health, or anything, but it's weird. There's so much pain and so many symptoms it seems like you should be dead by now, or at least severely crippled. You lose more energy when you swing a punch and miss then when you swing and hit. That's what it feels like. Just "I've got to be getting something out of this pain....show me the lumps, the swelling, the whatever. Not just symptom-less pain." There's something new and then you find out --surprise!-- there's no physical signs of it. I'd never wish for more damage or more physical suffering than I have, but it's like spinning the wheels of a car and never making contact with the road. Or maybe the analogy is not quite right. It's more like "Darn it, the wheels aren't gripping the road, so I can't go drive my car into a tree and land myself in the ICU...?" It's weird. It's definately not a feeling that I can grasp cognitively... Otherwise I sewed a lot. I forgot how crafty I am. Honestly. I'm about half-way through a patchwork tote bag that I'm making for my sister. I like the pattern and the design a lot, but when I worked out the measurements I was a dunce -- I tried to make the bag larger than the pattern, but forgot to account for the seams and so made each patch smaller than the original size of the patches in the pattern in order to make the bag bigger...... You know, sometimes I even astound myself. Anyway it should come out nice, the patterned fabrics I'm using are awesome. I also have been listening to a lot of pirate music. The Crimson Pirates make me happy! (Especially when I can listen to them without making the connection of the RF...) I go on these musical phases. I especially can't seem to get Tom of Bedlam out of my head. It's such generally happy and fun music. You can imagine everone sitting on benches and leaning against tables, with a mug of grog in one hand, singing along and roaring with laughter! I'm visiting James tomorrow, the day before surgery. I am going to keep this very updated, so please check back. I love you all! |