Seriously, I sit here every day, staring at the screen and trying to think of what to do next. I go through my email, respond to what I can, flag what I might, and delete the rest. There just aren’t enough pieces of me to go around.
This weekend is a big one: my son’s birthday, Mother’s Day, a little league game, a cub scout dinner and another birthday party. I brought three dozen sugar cookie for my son to share with his class. His siblings instantly did the calculations taking into account the number of classmates, teacher/assistants, and leftover cookies. These children who are getting middling reports on ability to concentrate and deliver on school work had it worked out to two decimal points in about three seconds. They know exactly what they can claim in leftovers.
Been so down, and down on myself lately that I don’t even remember what I said or did to prompt my eldest to shout from across the room, “Mom, you are not a failure, and you never will be!”
Trying to find work for next month and the month after. Just finished a big web design/site setup project that paid just in time to make the mortgage and not much else. Beginning to look at valuables again and wondering what jewelry, etc. I could sell.
Every day, my muscles ache and my joints protest every movement. It takes—no joke—an hour to find a comfortable sleeping position because any pressure on the lymph nodes under my neck is unbearable, and I can’t rest any part of my body on any other part of my body. The Pillow Arranging Ceremony is protracted, and my shoulders and back hate me for all the squirming and pillow punching and twisting around.
I’m two month into this Fifth Disease infection, and it hasn’t let up at all. Even the kids have flareups now and then. I kept Daphne home yesterday, and she and her bother STILL had the low-grade fever and slapped cheeks over the weekend. So did I. The school secretary clearly does not believe that we could still be suffering the effects. Well, I heard my seven year old ask her brother yesterday, “Sometimes when you stand up, doesn’t it feel like your legs are broken?” I can’t figure out if I’m in a perpetual fog, or if my tolerance for pain is causing the stoic and stony feeling I have all day. I cheer up when Lost is on and we have wine and cheese, but that’s not really something I can do round the clock. If I fall asleep after dropping the kids off, I could be out for thirty minutes or four and a half hours, like yesterday. I literally cannot fight the fatigue and asthenia.
And I don’t want to eat, yet the water retention in my hands and cankles compensate nicely so that my weight has remained the same throughout. Talk about cruel ironies. My friend remarked that she has one minor disease away from her target weight, and I thought, great, I get the one that retains buckets of water.
Going to stop typing now. Mousing is an agony. Cruel that every penny I earn is through this computer. At least when I take a day off it doesn’t seem to matter, as earnings are down all over the damn place.