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About This Author
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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:
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Yesterday in my chat with my counselor (If you take depression meds, you have to have counseling too. Meds alone don't work.) I admitted that I had made quite a discovery a few days ago. I'm not sure exactly what it means, though.
What I discovered was that when I look in the mirror, I see the woman I was between, say, 35 and 45. They always say that time is the best for women, and perhaps I have to agree. Well, somewhat. It was a great time for my career, my family, my health - physical and spiritual. I also think it was when I was at my purrrrrtiest. And that's the woman I see when I look into the mirror.
I guess this really isn't something new for me. I was thinking about this, and realized I had touched upon it a bit in something I wrote at least 6-7 years ago.
Many of us tend to remember our youth as the best time of our lives, especially as we gaze carefully into mirrors that we pass. Perhaps we sneak a glance and see for an instant what others might be seeing - that there is hint of gray peeking out at our temples or that there is just a hint of a wrinkle at the corner of our mouths. That older image of ourselves quickly passes, though, and staring at us through the looking glass is still the essence of our youth. Older and wiser eyes gaze into mirrors reflecting back a youthful time. From:
What made me realize that I was seeing that younger person in the mirror? Well... I mentioned before that hubby, son and I all got some cheap digital cameras. As I was looking at some pics I had taken, I realized that there was also a web cam feature to this camera and software. I played with that a bit and the woman who stared back at me on the screen looked more like my mother than me. I grabbed a pocket mirror and looked into it and realized that there were two women in front of me - the one I saw in the mirror and the one who was on the web cam. Amazing.
My counselor says that there's nothing wrong with me seeing that younger woman in the mirror. She thinks that's the reflection of my inner strength and my beauty, my inner self-esteem.
Hmmm. I think I'll have to be careful, though, when I'm applying make-up. I don't want to be putting make-up on the younger face, you know. There's nothing worse than having an old lady all done up with too much make-up. 
I also admitted to my counselor yesterday that I had not shared something else with her. Not that I was keeping it from her. I just had not experienced it in a while.
Back during those glory days (35-45), there was a time when I had to have an office away from home, even though my "business" was in home party sales. Our nice bedroom community refused to let anyone do business at home, even if it just meant taking a few telephone calls there. So I was forced to have an office away from home. I worked very few hours each day, unless I was getting ready for a big sales rally, training event, kick-off party, or awards banquet. Then I might put in 12 hours a day. It was after one of those long days that I noticed that I would do some rather strange things.
I would lock up the office - in the dark - and unlock my car and get in. My office near other offices, but by then there probably weren't any other humans around. So I suppose I was just a tad fearful for my safety. As soon as I was sitting in my car, I would think, "Did I lock the office door?" Then I would have to get out of the car to check. I would leave my car's headlights on while I dashed out to check. After I was settled back in the car, I would think, "I wonder if I turned off all the lights?" Then I'd have to turn off my headlights and lock my car again, unlock the office, lock the door behind me, check all the office and bathroom lights, then lock the office, unlock the car and get back in.
Yikes.
Yesterday, I found myself doing similar things as I left the house to go to the counselor's office. My son and his girlfriend were off eating breakfast somewhere and hubby was at work. I locked the door, then went to my car and unlocked it and got in. Before I could start the car, I wondered, "Did I lock the front door?" Of course I had. Back to the car I went. Then I wondered, "Did I blow out that candle in the kitchen?" Of course I had to check.
Sharon - my psychologist - says that's called the "OCD checking syndrome" or some such. She said that it occurs more when one is stressed. Now I'm wondering why I'm stressed.
The trip to Texas is over and done with. Yes, there is a truck load of crap to put away. Yes, the house looks like doo-doo while we get all the stuff put away. Yes, we're trying to sell the baby grand player piano and the dining room set, and if someone wants to see it, I'm going to have to find a way to put all the stuff away in a hurry or hide it somewhere. And clean the house.
But stressed? Why should I be stressed now???
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Well, whadda ya know? I just found out that I tied for second place in "Invalid Item"  . How cool is that?
Here's my entry: | |  | Stop the Car! (13+)
I forgot to tell him about my affliction. 2nd Place Winner - Bad Trips Contest
#1230873 by Kenzie   |
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Okay. I have decided that I might have to make two entries a day - one for regular stuff and one for fibro stuff. I really need to be better about tracking symptoms and triggers and such. And this place is as good as any.  So be warned. I'll try to make sure fibro is in the title so you can just ignore it if you wish.
Yesterday, I made fudge. That doesn't sound like it's related to fibro - yet - does it? Well...it's the same recipe I've been using for nigh unto (cool phrase, huh?) 40 years. Yikes. Not sure I want to admit that.
Anyway, one has to let the butter, sugar and evaporated milk come to a full boil. One has to stir while the stuff is getting to the full boil stage, then keep stirring for four minutes after it starts boiling. In all, that's about six minutes of stirring.
I stirred for half the time with my right hand and half with my left. Finished the fudge and felt like I had accomplished something for the day.
Later? Boy did I have regrets. The simple act of making fudge - stirring the stuff for only six minutes - made both hands feel like I had used them non-stop for eight hours or more, maybe with some heavy tin snips like my dad used to use as a sheet metal mechanic. Seriously, I could not believe the pain in the joints and in the flesh (not much muscle in hands, is there?).
Plus I'm still getting over the trip and the physical and emotional stuff from cleaning out the storage unit in Texas. Bouncing back takes time for usn's with fibro. |
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