Doh

I'm trying to get into a mindset were I can write seizable chunks of prose fluidly. I keep getting nice ideas that I want to play with, sometimes through words and sometimes through 'art' (quotation marks used because I had no ability before the tumor disturbed my motor control.)  my ability to focus is just not there. Or I find myself actually running errands. It makes great - have a decent idea for prologue and instead of writing it wander around town just thinking about it while getting, realistically, badly needed meds. The best part is I'm now just sitting here playing with colours on the sketch pad because I bought a few colours of wool and trying to decide on a nice, but simple, design for a scarf...

Well its productive.

Seizures and safety, the bloody learning Curve

Get, I' m trying to be really careful about going out and about with my seizures in mind. I am learning  various triggers, and am usually fairly confident about predicting when they will happen. Problem is I have ones that are unpredictable... They hit me like a bolt of lightning. I was having a walk through the park today, felt fine. The next thing I knew I lost control of my right side as my leg started mild convulsions. These were mild enough that I could keep my balance with my other side but I waiting for the day a severe happens... Same thing happened a few days before but fortunately I was close enough to catch hold of a wall - or I would have been swimming in the canal!

It's cold, just far too cold. And those swans are getting vicious.


On the bright side - I made cookies!  Coffee with triple chocolate chips ^_^

Randomness of coping mechinisms

It's hard to find meaning in life these days. I have never been one for plans, but I was fairly sure of my path until recently. There was so much I was certain of, things I was sure I was going to do; even people I wanted to do them with. It unthinkable, until it happens to you, just how much of your world can be destroyed. And it rarely matters what causes this destruction, a loved one, a twist of fate, or a time bomb you never knew was there; the after effects of the same.

Grief. Anger. Self-pity. Just to name a few. These emotions ensnare and entomb one if not careful. For every step forward, you're tugged 2 back. In a way it is a trap that is almost sweet to fall into. What better way to deal with the unfairness of life then to rail against it? The relief seems bittersweet. But then I have always had a bittersweet palette.

It is impossible to remain trapped in this more forever. In a sense coping mechanisms creep up on you.  Sometimes in the most amusing way possible as well.  Today I was laughing like a lunatic as staggered over to a bench gripping the wall with both hands as minor convulsions start to tremor down my right side.  I had to hold onto the wall, because I was not sure my leg would hold me much longer but all I think of was crazy I must look.

Another aspect? I suddenly realized I like my new short hairstyle. This was a weird realization, as I liked it immediately after it was cut.  I had only practical thoughts in mind, ie. short hair will be easier for the surgery team to deal, make post-op wound care easier to deal with ect.  It just suits my hair so well; it spikes with no product and still looks great if I don't clean or brush it. Which is great, considering my head is still tender, and likely to be for a long time.

I'm actually finding more energy and interest in activities I have been too fatigue to do for years, which is a bonus.  I actually find myself tempted to take up basketball or tennis or another sport again, even though my body will protest.  The way in which re-invention present itself in life can be downright weird.

But then it's nearly 2 in the morning and I'm struggling to sleep again; despite fatigue.

Morbid thoughts for the day

The body really is just a trap waiting to slam shut.

Okay so this thought occurred to me after a mild seizure made me lose control of my right side in a cafe.  This one was bad considering the amount of anticonvulsants I have been taking. I had the foresight to quickly make my sos bracelet obvious while I was fighting for control of my arm. From the feel of this one, it would been a grand mal meaning I'd wake up at home tomorrow with a hospital admission bracelet with no memory of how I had gotten from the cafe to my bed. Fun times. Fun times.

Musing on stunted creativity.

I think it's clear from this piece that I'm feeling a little old at the moment. Well not old per say, just worn out.  I have so much on my mind currently that it's sapping me.  And as much as I try not to let it get me down this is perhaps mission impossible.  I have had a lot of trouble dumped in my lap over the last few months and there is no one thing that I have had to with that I have asked for or deserved. However knowing that I am to blame for none of it does not actually make me feel better.

When it comes to creativity, I find that depression and grief and other similar emotions cloud my ability to write.  I know the artistic talent of many is driven by their personal grapple with their demons;  for me it's about as effective as walking with a broken leg.  Painful, slow and stunted.

I have never given this much thought. Perhaps it's because I tend write from a happy place, and my capability is a reflection of this. This in itself should not prevent me from writing when my mood is low. On a deeper level I sense that it's more that I become unnerved by the fashion in which words twist to reflect what I'm feeling a little too well. After all I never felt that mirrors were my friend. It is, in the other hand, a hurdle to my self expression which needs to be overcome.

On the bright side I finally got this months sick pay. I wonder if I will have to fight for it again next month...