notes from outside

I feel weak, having spent nearly the whole of the day sprawled across my loveseat with Ken Burns’ documentary The War on a seemingly endless loop. This, and I took no promethazine last night. I thought of food, of eating breakfast, lunch, anything as the hours drifted past and the level of natural light in the room faded, the receding sunlight drawing ever nearer to my balcony door, until finally it was as if it’s presence had been a fleeting dream, such as those one has in the throes of a high fever.

Eventually I confessed my weakness and fatigue to Mother, who scolded me for not having rung to let her know of my state earlier. Food. I was hungry, but nothing came to mind, as if the cupboards were bare. I couldn’t hold my thoughts for very long. My concentration wasn’t much better. Made my way to the kitchen and tentatively prepared avocado tacos. It seemed an age in the offing. I’ve felt like this quite often of late. Thankfully, I didn’t appear as wan as yesterday when I had to leave work for a hastily scheduled appointment with one of my doctors. Yes, I’ve more than one. I was fine at the start of day, quite pleased to see my workmates and friends. In less than two hours time I felt myself sinking, pulled sideways, about to come crashing down to the floor. The sensation grew so strong that sitting provided neither comfort or relief.

I remember a bit of dialogue from Once & Again, spoken by the young girl Jessie, about how the simplest things, the most unexpected, can change your life. I’d not go that far, however, the time spent with my Doctor proved nothing less than inspirational. He left me with a sense of hope I’ve not been accustomed to in so very long a time.

I try not to berate myself for not being stronger than this weakness that claims me. If only it were limited to that, but it is not.

I’m doing something here I didn’t quite intend when I returned to blogging quite recently, after my dissolution of an emotionally abusive relationship, which would, I feared, soon  take physical form. He didn’t wish me to write, for fear something about us would slip in that may prove scandalous to those who in this day and age even bother to care what their neighbours think. That, and nothing ought get back to his family. I complied with his request, to my chagrin, but with this post I am asserting my voice again, to hell with what anyone thinks. Life isn’t long enough to fret over such things.

I’d no intention of writing about my personal life, however, as I’m involved with the push for Universal Healthcare, I felt telling my own story somewhat important as I am one of those Michael Moore and Dennis Kucinich have spoken of: the under insured. Mind, I have insurance through my employer. Sadly, it only goes so far.

I’m exhausted and hungry again. The Gods must have heard my prayers, as the wren I so adore has graced me with his presence. Illness can leave one feeling isolated, utterly alone. Tonight respite has been provided from that.

Time to rest my weary head.

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