The Return To Innocence

Today is my eighth wedding anniversary. Adam is currently working in Manhattan but should be home late tonight, if not tomorrow. That's common - most years, he's working out of town on an anniversary or birthday. We just celebrate when he comes home. Money needs to be made and bills need to be paid, after all. And we did just put a lot of money into repairing and remodeling our home. Happy anniversary indeed! My present to him will be a cleaner house, with Charlotte's superhero help. Needed desperately since I awoke with a postictal migraine, a pulled muscle in my neck, spasticity all around, and sciatica like whoa. *shrug* The shower helped. Ah, pain relief and muscle relaxant pills. Of many kinds. Good, good.

After the vacuuming, I will rest and try not to damage any other part (ha).

Feeling fucking horrid. Sipping Ensure until I can work in food again. Ah, well. That's fibromyalgia.
Adam, Charlotte, and Billy are downstairs working on dissembling as much of the dining room as possible so they can make it easy when the contractors arrive in May to lay down the new carpet. They know how I'm feeling. I wouldn't be much use in any case. I'm doing what I can upstairs to keep floors clean and things out of the way.

Currently reading random articles, including this one, which is very applicable to what I went through.

***
Based upon her study of the pagan community in the United States, the sociologist Margot Adler noted that it is rare for Pagan groups to proselytize in order to gain new converts to their faiths. Instead, she argued that "in most cases", converts first become interested in the movement through "word of mouth, a discussion between friends, a lecture, a book, an article or a Web site." She went on to put forward the idea that this typically confirmed "some original, private experience, so that the most common experience of those who have named themselves pagan is something like 'I finally found a group that has the same religious perceptions I always had'." A practicing Wiccan herself, Adler used her own conversion to paganism as a case study, remarking that as a child she had taken a great interest in the gods and goddesses of ancient Greece, and had performed her own devised rituals in dedication to them. When she eventually came across the Wiccan religion many years later, she then found that it confirmed her earlier childhood experiences, and that "I never converted in the accepted sense. I simply accepted, reaffirmed, and extended a very old experience."

Folklorist Sabina Magliocco supported this idea, noting that a great many of those Californian Pagans whom she interviewed claimed that they had been greatly interested in mythology and folklore as children, imagining a world of "enchanted nature and magical transformations, filled with lords and ladies, witches and wizards, and humble but often wise peasants." Magliocco noted that it was this world which pagans "strive to re-create in some measure." Further support for Adler's idea came from American Wiccan priestess Judy Harrow, who noted that amongst her comrades, there was a feeling that "you don't become pagan, you discover that you always were." They have also been supported by Pagan studies scholar Graham Harvey.

Many pagans in North America encounter the movement through their involvement in other hobbies; particularly popular with U.S. Pagans are "golden age"-type pastimes such as the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA), Star Trek fandom, Doctor Who fandom and comic book fandom. Other manners in which many North American pagans have got involved with the movement are through political and/or ecological activism, such as "vegetarian groups, health food stores" or feminist university courses.

Adler went on to note that from those she interviewed and surveyed in the U.S., she could identify a number of common factors that led to people getting involved in Paganism: the beauty, vision and imagination that was found within their beliefs and rituals, a sense of intellectual satisfaction and personal growth that they imparted, their support for environmentalism and/or feminism, and a sense of freedom.
***

Wow, I feel well enough to actually get dressed for real and Do Things. Laundry, writing, sweeping, writing. You know how you get a horrid illness and can't move for a week and when it goes away you finally remember what it's like to feel alive? That's kind of how I feel every time a fibromyalgia flare backs off. Which is, of course, very often.
***
I have learned that if I can't educate the bullies or help them understand, I tell them to imagine the worst flu for two weeks with no relief. Usually, they'll still call it psychosomatic or psychiatric, so then I'll suggest they imagine all their nerves and connective tissues caught on heated barbed wire for hours during a thunderstorm after they've run themselves exhausted. Then again, these types of "pain bullies" usually have very little imagination, so I just tell them how grateful they should be that they can feel superior and condescending enough to not understand what chronic pain is like.

I am finding it extremely hard to brain properly today. I may have had a couple of little seizures last night. My emotional... emotionality was not... emotional. Quite flat and distant, really. Observing myself perform tasks, speak words, and think thoughts while feeling detached. Essentially, depersonalization. That has been happening more and more during and after seizures. I've found some fascinating quotes that I'm still pondering: "...the dissociative condition was in fact a form of temporal lobe seizure. This is of interest in that the temporal lobe is more prone to seizure activity than any other lobe of the cortex... In addition, temporal lobe seizures are notable for producing states of altered consciousness, including those in which the sense of 'personal identity' may disappear." This is something I will have to bring up during next week's appointment with the neurologist.

I do remember cleaning the kitchen counter and stove with an abrasive cleanser (a Magic Eraser sponge) as though my life depended on it. This was after Adam watched me scoop cat litter and made the comment that the entire litter area was filthy. I commented that I hadn't really noticed. True. My perceptions are skewed. Adam pulled everything out of the closet space, swept up litter and debris, and casually mentioned that I "never clean anything." I found myself blankly agreeing, flat and detached and uncaring. Afterwards, when Adam went to the kitchen to wash up, I watched myself grab cleaning supplies and mechanically start working on surfaces. I began working mechanically, emotionless and and nearly compulsive. The counters weren't sparkling clean, but my muscles, joints, and nerves were already exhausted, and logically I knew that continuing would leave me useless later. My left arm was already fairly useless, at different times spasming, tensing, becoming limp. Switching between paresis and plegia, allowing sensation but not voluntary movement. I hate when that happens. General asthenia is one of those things I have grown to accept but it will always frustrate me.

I have odd moments in which very random things motivate me unexpectedly, and I whirl through the house on a frenzied cleaning spree, rationally understanding that I probably will not do a thorough job because the way I perceive things is not "normal" and I tend to miss obvious details. When Adam comes home, he always compliments me on at least "trying hard." I take no offense, I never feel shamed or upset. We are both aware that my perception problems and my pain disorders make homemaker life very difficult. We do our best to work with my conditions. It is incredibly frustrating, yes. I seem lazy to observers. I seem unmotivated, carefree, aloof, too internally focused, too self-absorbed, spending too much time inside my head. Sometimes, Adam and I joke that we wish I had the type of OCD that involved house cleaning.

I have used various techniques, so please, there is no need to comment about "trying this or that" concerning household chores.

I believe the point of this entry was to record the observation of epileptic activity. A slightly more reality-interactive Being Alice moment, as it were. I just feel very tired, very much in pain of many kinds, very not interested in anyone telling me how to feel or think. That happens so much in the disabled world, doesn't it? We all want to help each other and some of us take it a little too far? I refuse to participate in any Pain Olympics, but I certainly welcome thoughts and ideas and anecdotes, always.

I forgot where this was going. Sorry.

I am finding it extremely hard to brain properly today. I may have had a couple of little seizures last night. My emotional... emotionality was not... emotional. Quite flat and distant, really. Observing myself perform tasks, speak words, and think thoughts while feeling detached. Essentially, depersonalization. That has been happening more and more during and after seizures. I've found some fascinating quotes that I'm still pondering: "...the dissociative condition was in fact a form of temporal lobe seizure. This is of interest in that the temporal lobe is more prone to seizure activity than any other lobe of the cortex... In addition, temporal lobe seizures are notable for producing states of altered consciousness, including those in which the sense of 'personal identity' may disappear." This is something I will have to bring up during next week's appointment with the neurologist.

I do remember cleaning the kitchen counter and stove with an abrasive cleanser (a Magic Eraser sponge) as though my life depended on it. This was after Adam watched me scoop cat litter and made the comment that the entire litter area was filthy. I commented that I hadn't really noticed. True. My perceptions are skewed. Adam pulled everything out of the closet space, swept up litter and debris, and casually mentioned that I "never clean anything." I found myself blankly agreeing, flat and detached and uncaring. Afterwards, when Adam went to the kitchen to wash up, I watched myself grab cleaning supplies and mechanically start working on surfaces. I began working mechanically, emotionless and and nearly compulsive. The counters weren't sparkling clean, but my muscles, joints, and nerves were already exhausted, and logically I knew that continuing would leave me useless later. My left arm was already fairly useless, at different times spasming, tensing, becoming limp. Switching between paresis and plegia, allowing sensation but not voluntary movement. I hate when that happens. General asthenia is one of those things I have grown to accept but it will always frustrate me.

I have odd moments in which very random things motivate me unexpectedly, and I whirl through the house on a frenzied cleaning spree, rationally understanding that I probably will not do a thorough job because the way I perceive things is not "normal" and I tend to miss obvious details. When Adam comes home, he always compliments me on at least "trying hard." I take no offense, I never feel shamed or upset. We are both aware that my perception problems and my pain disorders make homemaker life very difficult. We do our best to work with my conditions. It is incredibly frustrating, yes. I seem lazy to observers. I seem unmotivated, carefree, aloof, too internally focused, too self-absorbed, spending too much time inside my head. Sometimes, Adam and I joke that we wish I had the type of OCD that involved house cleaning.

I have used various techniques, so please, there is no need to comment about "trying this or that" concerning household chores.

I believe the point of this entry was to record the observation of epileptic activity. A slightly more reality-interactive Being Alice moment, as it were. I just feel very tired, very much in pain of many kinds, very not interested in anyone telling me how to feel or think. That happens so much in the disabled world, doesn't it? We all want to help each other and some of us take it a little too far? I refuse to participate in any Pain Olympics, but I certainly welcome thoughts and ideas and anecdotes, always.

I forgot where this was going. Sorry.

After trying to put away my clean laundry, I realized that my dresser drawers were already too full, so I emptied the long-sleeved tops drawer and folded everything and put it all away, and it was still too full. I did the same with the short-sleeved tops drawer and it was almost worse. I commented to Adam that perhaps I finally had more clothing than drawer space.
This prompted a discussion of overhauling and redoing the entire bedroom, as we both had clothing strewn in corners. This then led to a debate on whether or not I was medically depressed, which I denied, which led to me dreaming of a perfect drug that could actually deliver both intense lasting pain relief and intense lasting fatigue relief, so I had the extreme energy of both body and mind to actually run around cleaning and organizing the house.*
This led to a discussion about doing it slowly, two minutes at a time, a small amount at a time. This led to Adam bringing out one of his airline-battered rolling suitcases, telling me to put clothes and shoes I wasn't presently using into the suitcase to put away for later. I explained that I first needed a trash bag to throw old clothes in for donation. He gave me a bag. I cleared out two full dresser drawers and felt temporarily satisfied.
Adam asked me if I would continue this clothing organizing into the next day. I promised I would -- if he promised to finally organize his unholy sock drawer.
Adam's sock drawer is sort of like the mind of HP Lovecraft. Full of strange, unknown, mismatched, lonely weirdness, possibly with aliens in a nightmarish depth if insanity.
Adam smiled at me held out his pinky, and told me that we would go to Wal-Mart or Target and buy ten packs of generic black socks, same brand and same style. I told him this was a fine idea, because I was starting to lose my mind every time we had to find matching pairs of socks for him. "Okay, this doesn't match.... this doesn't match... nope, not a match... wait, is this a match?? No, no, different toe color. Damn you, socks, I can't do this, oh gods I hate you..."
After lunch, I will continue to pick apart my clothing and shoe options, and then eventually there will be vacuuming.


*I've found this in small ways, especially with organic energy shots containing green tea and yerba mate, which wash down pills like carisoprodol, MSM, royal jelly, cha de bugre, and suma. That combination works fairly well for a while. But I'd like it to happen on its own every now and then. I hate you, fibromyalgia plus cerebral palsy.*

After trying to put away my clean laundry, I realized that my dresser drawers were already too full, so I emptied the long-sleeved tops drawer and folded everything and put it all away, and it was still too full. I did the same with the short-sleeved tops drawer and it was almost worse. I commented to Adam that perhaps I finally had more clothing than drawer space.
This prompted a discussion of overhauling and redoing the entire bedroom, as we both had clothing strewn in corners. This then led to a debate on whether or not I was medically depressed, which I denied, which led to me dreaming of a perfect drug that could actually deliver both intense lasting pain relief and intense lasting fatigue relief, so I had the extreme energy of both body and mind to actually run around cleaning and organizing the house.*
This led to a discussion about doing it slowly, two minutes at a time, a small amount at a time. This led to Adam bringing out one of his airline-battered rolling suitcases, telling me to put clothes and shoes I wasn't presently using into the suitcase to put away for later. I explained that I first needed a trash bag to throw old clothes in for donation. He gave me a bag. I cleared out two full dresser drawers and felt temporarily satisfied.
Adam asked me if I would continue this clothing organizing into the next day. I promised I would -- if he promised to finally organize his unholy sock drawer.
Adam's sock drawer is sort of like the mind of HP Lovecraft. Full of strange, unknown, mismatched, lonely weirdness, possibly with aliens in a nightmarish depth if insanity.
Adam smiled at me held out his pinky, and told me that we would go to Wal-Mart or Target and buy ten packs of generic black socks, same brand and same style. I told him this was a fine idea, because I was starting to lose my mind every time we had to find matching pairs of socks for him. "Okay, this doesn't match.... this doesn't match... nope, not a match... wait, is this a match?? No, no, different toe color. Damn you, socks, I can't do this, oh gods I hate you..."
After lunch, I will continue to pick apart my clothing and shoe options, and then eventually there will be vacuuming.


*I've found this in small ways, especially with organic energy shots containing green tea and yerba mate, which wash down pills like carisoprodol, MSM, royal jelly, cha de bugre, and suma. That combination works fairly well for a while. But I'd like it to happen on its own every now and then. I hate you, fibromyalgia plus cerebral palsy.*

Adam is home all day today. Charlotte came over this morning. We cleaned all the things. Bleach was involved. My kitchen is practically gleaming.

I hurt so much right now I can't even articulate. But it's fine. It's awesome. I feel accomplished and stuff.

Adam is home all day today. Charlotte came over this morning. We cleaned all the things. Bleach was involved. My kitchen is practically gleaming.

I hurt so much right now I can't even articulate. But it's fine. It's awesome. I feel accomplished and stuff.

Adam is flying out to Las Vegas, Nevada tomorrow, early morning. He flies back home late next Thursday, arriving home on Friday morning, March second. He is home now, preparing and packing. Yesterday and Sunday were spent grocery shopping to fill the fridge for me while he is gone.

I do love the way the bedroom is set up now. It looks more like a bedroom and less like a room with a bed. The king sized bed that once belonged to Adam's parents had taken up most of the space, pressed up against the wall in the middle of the room. There were two narrow aisles on either side and a walkway at the foor. No real room. Now the bed has been turned sideways, settled under the windowsill so we now lay on it width-wise instead of length-wise. The dressers and bureaus have been shifted around so the dresser that had been under the windowsill is now against the wall where the bed used to be. Charlotte and I changed around things so I have the two shorter dressers and Adam has the others. The 42-inch flatscreen plasma TV is still on the same dresser, but now at an angle to face the bed. We may move it later. The mini fridge is on the edge of my dresser. Charlotte also cleaned out the closet and organized everything, even all my shoes, and our coats and jackets and Adam's dress shirts. The closet doors close now, and we're keeping it that way. Everything is folded and put away. Charlotte taught me how to properly fold and store my clothing, since I have trouble doing that. She has been very patient with me, as she has an epileptic half sister who has severe organization and cleaning problems, because her brain cannot process certain things and becomes overloaded and she seizes. She has observed the same behavior in me, but calls me a neat freak compared to her estranged sister.
There is a whole floor to sit on and even do exercises on. I might go out and buy a mat to go along with my Pilates Ring. Charlotte and I have been trying out basic Pilates together.
(Beca, when you come over we need to bounce on the bed and do jumping jacks around the room, just to show we can)

My severe migraine seems to be ebbing. Lunch helped. I ate a panini sandwich filled with fresh mozzarella, roasted red peppers, and basil pesto. It was light enough not to upset my stomach, and filling enough in case I couldn't finish it. I should fill the humidifier with water and turn it on. That will help too. It will rain soon. The sky is as heavy and dark and rumbling as the inside of my skull. Along with my menses, it is the culprit. My boss is still out sick, so I won't let the pain overtake me.

It is in the forties outside, as far as temperature. The snow and ice have begun to melt.