Accomplishments

I'm talking about small tasks of daily living here.  Not what pre-fibro Marie would consider actual accomplishments.  For example, getting a load of laundry through to the end so it is in the closet or folded in the drawer.  Going out on the bus to a doc appointment and making it back home.  Giving the dog and cat clean water and food. 

Blessedly, I no longer hold the bar for such activities higher than I can reach.  It is about an inch over.  An accomplishment is just finishing to my ability at that time.  It doesn't have to be pretty (we are not a magazine photoshoot), timely (not a newspaper), effecient, (not whatever needs effeciency), graceful, or even complete.  Today is laundry day.  Historically, I know that the amount of laundry my home makes can be done and finished in a day.  I have done it before, so I know this to be true.  Today, however, I will feel accomplished if I get some of it dried and out to the loveseat.  I have no plans whatsoever to complete it.  I don't even have plans to try folding anything.  I don't have any kind of goal.  I will just do what I can and be grateful for that accomplishment. 

I will not feel sorry for myself.

On Wednesday, I will board the bus with my lunch, go to my doctors appointments, I have two that day, and my goal will just be to get home in one piece.  Very low bar.  I have no aspirations to get home feeling comfortable or without a headache.  I don't even plan to be able to communicate very well to my psychologist.  I will just do what I can do.  The rest will be taken care of by God, if it is His will, or not.  I will accept the limitations I find with peace.  I will not be saddened by them or deterred in my accomplishing tasks.  Making it safely home is my goal for Wednesday.  I have handled crises in bad shape before, and it is not ideal but, somehow, I come to the other side.  He carries me.  Praise Him.

Hard days

Today is one of the days when sometimes I long for consistency.  Humans love consistency.  I crave being able to rely on my body but I can't.  I can rely on it for being unreliable.  Sometimes that is the hardest part.  Part of me longs to be at whatever plateau of health and just to stick there so I know what I'm capable of and can better predict what kinds of things I can comfortably do.  The other part of me, the grateful part, is truly thankful for the good days when I feel relatively well.  It's just hard to fully express how disappointing and distressing it is when the change happens.  And even now, eight years after the onset, I feel the need to try to explain the change to whomever speaks to me and asks.   

I'm missing worshiping with people.  I'm missing volunteering some time.  I'm missing my family.  Missing a lot right now.  Need to find a few things to smile about.  Science says that when we smile, it releases chemicals in our brains that make us happier.  Neurochemical transmitters are on the lookout for those smile muscles and go into action to turn the smile from a forced to a natural state.  Need to do some smiling now.