Where have I been the past two months? Well, that's a good question, upon which I found myself reflecting just today. Life-changing stuff has been going on, interspersed with a good dose of knitting.
Top of the list has been cataract surgery. After 6 months of dreading to drive because my vision could no longer be corrected by any eyeglass prescription known to man, I can see again. Even at night, behind the wheel of my car. Most astonishing of all is that I no longer need any sort of glasses at all, except for "close" stuff like reading, knitting, and typing this blog, a total reversal of how I've been seeing the world since I was eight years old. Being inexorably nearsighted for well over half a century, I had gotten into the habit of reading without my glasses. Just bring the written word up close, like to the end of my nose, and I was happy. Threading needles, putting on eyeliner, clipping my cuticles, even some knitting, all performed with a precision borne of my misshapen ocular lenses. Needless to say, I am having to relearn how to see. I still haven't gotten the eyeliner down pat, but as the old saying goes, that should be the least of my problems. This is nothing short of a miracle.
Nudging my newly-reclaimed eyesight for first place is the favorable conclusion of my disability claim. After all the aggravation, fear, and anger, my hearing before the administrative judge went well, due in no small part to the guidance of the disability firm representative, and I was notified that my appeal had been granted (despite the best efforts of my primary doctors to screw me to a wall). Now I just have to wait for Social Security to process the court's order and will hopefully begin to see real money being direct deposited to our account.
Fibromyalgia continues to create limitations, but I am learning to accept them and adapt daily life. If I manage to get One Thing Done during the day, I am satisfied. More than that is going to send me to back to bed, but that is becoming part of the rhythm of life. When I was in my thirties I could work two jobs and go to school; in my sixties, keeping company with fibromyalgia, I can sometimes get down the steps, clean up after my pets, and make the bed. I'm still a productive member of society; it's all just a matter of perspective.
I cook more infrequently now, relying on old favorites, and allow myself the luxury of picking up Publix fried chicken or Chinese food, or some other sort of take-out to supplement my family's diet. I understand that is what "normal" people do, when they are not trying to prove they are the world's greatest home cook. I am learning to stop trying to prove anything to anybody, so I am somewhat more relaxed about the contents of my refrigerator and the messy state of my household. I am finally beginning to accept that I am an inveterate clutterer, and no longer worry about changing my ways. Finally at 63, I am free of that particular form of guilt and it feels good.
But I do have one guilty pleasure (well, maybe two - I'm still eating too much chocolate), and that is my almost total immersion in this crazy political season. I am glued to the News app on my iPhone/iPad, and I share too many articles on Facebook. But you probably already know this. My despair over the direction of this election is palpable; better not to get into it right now.
So it is fair to say that the only fly in this nominally positive ointment is Donald Trump. And also, another fly or maybe just a little flea, would be those annoying voices in my head. I'm not all that concerned, as I can't hear most of what they are saying, and more importantly, no one is telling me to engage in any dangerous, cruel, or illegal acts. Their presence is, however, causing my therapist to repeatedly express his deep concern which means eventually I am going to have to follow his advice and consult with a medical-type person. Until then, I'm going to leave them in peace, living as they do in my attic (literally and figuratively speaking).
And for your viewing pleasure - Lace!
Puppies!
One Dark Lord of the Sith!
Oops. Gotta figure out how this Google photo album thing, which replaced Picasa, works. Damn, spit, and dirty socks. Till next time.
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