|
About This Author
|
Each Day Already is a Challenge
A Texas Sunrise
 
A friend, William Taylor, took this picture. He visits Surfside Beach with his dogs almost every morning, watching the sun rise while the dogs prance about at the water's edge.
This is only about ten miles from where I lived in Lake Jackson, Texas. Sadly, I only visited this beach about four times in the six years I lived nearby.
Each day is a challenge. A challenge to get by without thinking about the fibromyalgia pains. A challenge to stay awake when chronic fatigure wants to take over. And a challenge to navigate through fibro fog.
I haven't been writing as much as in the past. For years, I wrote at least 500 words a day. Now, I'm lucky if I write 500 words in month. Sigh.
For more information about what my day (or life) is all about with fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, chronic pains, IBS, depression and everything else thrown in, check this out:
| |
Last night on our local news there was a short piece about the fact that some people food is now contaminated by that wheat gluton the pet food had. It seems that some farmers fed the pet food to pigs. Supposedly, the amount that people would actually get from eating the pork isn't much. But they still made the farmer stop selling his pigs for us to eat. Hmmm.
My sister called late last night to let me know that our brother was in the hospital again in Pittsburgh. It's one of his routine visits to have his fluids drained. He's an alcoholic whose kidneys and liver don't work well anymore, and when his fluids back up his belly grows and grows. It looks like he's swallowed a water melon.
I talked to him late this afternoon. Now...my brother started doing drugs and drinking booze in his early teens. But he started lying about everything before he went to kindergarten. Why is that important? Because he told me that he was also in the hospital about a month or so ago because he was bitten by a rat.
My brother is mostly homeless. He has lived in abandoned cars, under bridges, in cardboard boxes. He says right now he's living underneath a porch somewhere. I think it's the porch of the bar where he hangs out. He has no money, but he does some cleaning and runs (literally) a few errands for the owner and is paid in booze. The local restaurants also pay him to do insignificant errands, so he eats at least once a day too.
Supposedly, brother Bill lay down for the night last month and put his hand under the pillow and felt something furry. He scared the rat as much as it scared him and it bit his forehead. Bill said that he walked to the police station, where they called for an ambulance for him.
This kind of thing could happen to a homeless drunk. No doubt. But with my brother's reputation for lying, it's hard to tell if it's a true story or not. About 6 months ago, he called his daughter supposedly from the hospital after a heart attack. She informed everyone in the family, but the hospital said he had not been there in months. So, you just never know with him.
I finally got my hair cut. I've been in Cincinnati for 2 1/2 years almost and this is only the third time I've had it cut. The first two times, I went to those cheapo places and really hated the cuts I got. So my hair had gotten waaaaaaaaaay too long - for a 55 year old - and terribly unruly. I finally discovered that one of our church members worked as a hair stylist and everyone said she was wonderful. Well, she is. She also works in a pretty fancy place. My hair cut cost $30 plus tip. 
I had something else to write about, but I have totally forgotten what it was.  I blame that on fibro fog, of course. It has nothing at all to do with getting old. Don't even go there. 
Grrr. Today my stomach/digestive system decided that it hadn't been bothering me for a while and decided to fix that. My stomach feels like there's a real war going on in there. Seriously. I can feel the stomach juices just a-sloshing around in there. Burning pain. Grrr. |
© Copyright 2024 Kenzie (UN: kenzie at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Kenzie has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|
and 
