ME

ME

Sunday, April 19, 2015

jet powered fluttering

I love these bright sunshiny Spring days; I was going to say mornings but, by the time I have manoeuvred myself from the divan, and into daytime apparel, ante-meridian is already veering toward the post component of the day. At this time of the year I’ve at least got a few more daylight hours to appreciate, even when the body achingly summons me to an afternoon nap.

What I don’t like about these bright days is the omnipresent temptation to do a little pottering about in the garden. Don’t get me wrong, I loved gardening when it didn’t have a payback clause attached, whereas now it’s far too easy to forget the limited number of spoons available.

When I succumb to the garden’s lure it so easily leads me to forget about “pacing”. My beloved is always good at reminding me to slow down, or stop, these times of physical endeavour, especially when I’m enjoying the change from my otherwise sedentary lifestyle. Actually, much of the time, the word sludge seems more appropriate than sedentary to express how this mode of being feels. Yesterday a short time spent mowing the lawn, albeit using an electric mower, seemed to have used up most of my 24 hour stamina supply.  

It’s always wonderful to hear the buzzing hum of the bees, both bumble and honey, as I walk past the heather laden rockery towards the wildlife friendly reserve at the far end of the garden. Primroses and cowslips are thriving and the nettles are springing back to life; the chatter, piped and fluted songs, of our avian visitors make an idyllic background as I move into reclining mode in the summerhouse.


 Even the fluttering butterflies seem like jet propelled aircraft in comparison to my enforced lethargy.

Monday, April 13, 2015

just so story - zambalouked

absolutely zambalouked - that's it - zambalouked; there's no other word for it, it's indescribable without its forbears, and the whole interminable history of signs and symbols encountered en route.

First we had that dance routine, it starts with the knees this time. A dull throbbing ache vibrates through shins and sets the feet in motion. Next it's the wrists that ache, a slow burning fuse that sets the heavy upper limbs in discomforted motion, and then the nausea begins.

Elbows insist the arms must stretch, release the terpsichoreal spasms that shudder down from the armpits. Turn onto belly, cross arms behind the pillow, stretch legs and hook toes over the mattress end to stop their flailing burn.

*******

Do you know that, this time, I thought I'd gotten away with it.

Nice bright weather coaxed me out of my cocoon, just a little light weeding here, tack down some mineral felt there. Can't have been more than a couple of hours exertion spread across two days.

Then there was the modest change of 27litres of water from the 180litre aquarium, 3 buckets full either way, and that's my exercise!

I wallowed in that grand illusion; this time no payback. Guess what ...

*******


A couple of days later the nocturnal dance followed by this achingly shattered, confused emptiness, a totally zambalouked experience. Absolutely zambalouked, that's all I've got to say! 

Entranced by the strangest zambalouk.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Of genuine woes and fraudulent transactions

Today provides one of those unusual mornings, at only 11.45 I feel almost awake; a rare instance indeed! Just over a week ago I intended to write a posting, more a catharsis for me than a word for others, but an intolerable lethargy weighed far too heavily. My scribbling that day went as follows :

“And wimpishness knows no bounds, the tears flow freely, the sinuses discharge an uninfected load as earth’s rotation slows right down A flood of fear and selfishness combines

A flood of fear
And selfishness
Knows no bounds –

The tears flow freely
And sinuses discharge
An uninfected stream

Of hopelessness …”

My brain seemed blocked; no words would flow until, some twenty-four hours later, the above emotion transmogrified into the following doggerel:

                                            Dog Errol


                                          It never pours
but when
there’s more
to follow.

Rain never follows
an unending drought.

If once a mouse
should catch a cat
the fox would say
I smell a rat

Whereas earlier in the year, despite all too familiar aches, pains, and wooly confusion, I managed to remain quite upbeat, by early March my reserves of emotional and physical stamina had fallen from their quite low plateau. Even the most modest exertion seemed to wipe me out. It was as if I had to make an exhausting conscious effort to persuade my legs to move in the right direction, as I ventured out into the hallway; this would occasionally be followed by a strenuous mental effort to remember why I’d headed there in the first place.

Earlier today it seemed as if the sun would make an appearance but, as I turn back towards the window, hailstones are flailing down from the heavens, their rebound, as they leave the ground, makes mockery of my prevailing inertia.

No sooner had I jotted down the previous paragraph than the sun, in full glory, burst through the residual cloud cover as grey skies turned to blue. The swiftness of this transition would be hard to believe were it not experienced first hand by one’s own senses. So, you may add, “your senses are working, even if much else of your corporeal being seems to be giving up on you. Why don’t you stop moaning?” the latter question I’ve frequently asked myself but, it’s far too easy to succumb to more negative attitudes when your feeling several degrees below an iffy par.

*********

A gum infection, and accompanying toothache, really set me back and, as is its wont, the worst flare-up occurred on a Friday night and the dentist doesn’t work at weekends. Strangely, the pain seemed to emanate from beneath a crown; intellectually this made little sense as I knew that tooth had been root-filled many moons ago. The worst of the pain then presented itself under a wisdom tooth; when I had an emergency appointment with my dentist she noted that I nearly went through the ceiling when she tapped the offending tooth. She duly prescribed a course of antibiotics to combat the infection, halfway through which the pain seemed to have magnified, and with my somewhat iffy immune system sundry familiar ME symptoms returned to bite me, affecting my balance, brain fog, aching muscles, chronic IBS and diverticular disease symptoms seemed to think it was carnival time; they rejoiced as I slid further downhill.

I was feeling so dreadful that when I realized my beloved was going to visit her brother, and would be away overnight, the floods of tears mentioned at the beginning came into play. My only utterance, through my wimpish blubbering, to ma belle was that I was afraid that I was going to die alone.

Matters weren’t helped when an early morning ‘phone call wakened me from my fitful slumbers on the morning of ma belle’s departure. The call was from a credit card company suspecting there may have been a “fraudulent use” of my credit card and, I must contact them on an 0845 premium number. I went immediately to saynoto0870.com where I found an alternative number to contact card services. Just as well that I used a free number as I was talking to (or being talked at) the bank for 40 minutes when palpitations and breathlessness took over. My beloved fortunately had not yet set off, as she had to take over the conversation from me.

The annoying oiks on the banks end of the phone line endlessly repeated the same questions re a gambling website that I’d never heard of and had I made a £500 payment to that site on that morning. Although they acted on the basis that a fraud had been committed, somehow this payment had been accepted and would appear on my next statement. They then explained that in a fortnight they would be sending me a legal letter which I would have to sign to say I had not made this payment. The attitude of the people I spoke to left much to be desired, especially when dealing with people who have a chronic debilitating health condition. I was definitely made to feel that I was a prisoner in the dock being grilled by a particularly abrasive prosecution counsel.

The card was only renewed earlier this month and has never left the four walls wherein I live, breathe and have most of my being! It had only been used a couple of times online at companies with whom I have had regular secure transaction completed via a “verified by” security check so, one can only surmise that there is somebody either at the bank or one of these companies who has filched my card details.

Sorry for such a sustained moan but, it only serves to illustrate my roller-coaster ride.
 


                                          


Saturday, January 31, 2015

Revivified on Mal's Factory

I've just posted a NEW poem on Mal's Factory - 'The Yo-Yo Man' a rough draft of which had lain dormant on my hard-drive since 2006

Sunday, January 25, 2015

what's in a day



It seems, and logically must be, impossible to know what’s going to happen one day to the next. Whenever we arrange any kind of appointment it’s usually made in good faith but, circumstances can so often thwart the noblest intention. I’ve been feeling quite vulnerable, health-wise, with a recurrence of sudden onset sundry joint, muscle and lymph node pain.

It’s rather hard to describe how (what starts as) an acute breach of one’s pain threshold transforms itself into a prolonged groan and nausea inducing pulsating bruised sensation.  Occasionally the application of wrist, knee, elbow and shoulder supports provides temporary relief but at other times they have to be accompanied by taking a couple of tramadol. For a few days in the past week, with the aid of a little preventative pain-killer consumption, I seemed relatively free of the above aches and  discomfort; even my IBS symptoms were in temporary abeyance.

That should have seemed too good to last but, I so enjoyed the welcome break that, I was rather shocked when the above symptoms alongside others returned with a vengeance. A chest crushing response to sudden unexpected sounds, IBS, post-nasal drip, sore throat, loss of appetite and sudden pallor overwhelmed me yesterday, and I became quite frightened. My body imposed a regime of rest on me; I kept dozing off intermittently throughout the day even though I’d had my normal twelve plus hours of bed-rest, with intermittent but not necessarily refreshing sleep, as prelude to this ultra-discomforted day.

At present it seems as if my sundry prescribed medications are failing in their duty, reflux, post-nasal drip, IBS are all nagging me into acute awareness of their presence. I still am able to count my blessings, welcoming each new day to bask in the love of ma belle amoureuse, having a roof over my head, water on tap, essential heating,  and food in the larder. My heart goes out to all those less fortunate than myself.

*******

This post also appears on Mal's Murmurings

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

HAPPY NEW YEAR


Here’s Hoping that the NEW YEAR may become 

one in which
each Individual’s Need
is met 

(and Corporate Greed
is overcome!)