Confined to Barracks

 It's Day 5

A gradual sliding down the scale of energy to multiple unending naps and barest participation in a life much restricted.

Grandgirl and partner are out of quarantine and I am unable to participate in the celebration. Two (yeah two) interviews with CBC on two different topics had to be cancelled. As my computer also crashed and I need the large screen I've had to cancel tax clients too. And my podiatry. And other stuff. Life cancelled. There's a title.

Life is brutal sometimes. I tried to get hold of my doctor today but being Monday lines are constantly busy.

My big tests are on Tuesday 25th coming.

I'm  not worth much, I don't wish to see anyone. I finally consented to Grandgirl dropping by and then agreed to Daughter. They cheered me up a bit. They've booked a weekend away for all of us next weekend. Fingers crossed. It will probably mean just changing beds for me. *Hollow Laughter*

Mentally I'm a bit of a mess. Crying at the drop of a hat. Finding passive distractions when I'm awake. Knowing that I've been fighting depression for a while. Understandably.

Should we/I write about such challenges and downward spirals?

I made a long journal entry yesterday but haven't read it.

I note many bloggers don't write when they are suspended in illness and pain and mental disruption. And then they fade away. And I wonder.

I'm going to continue writing as much as I am able, I've decided.

I am grateful for the small things. A couple of texts from friends who care. My daughter and granddaughter who respect my boundaries (I  have difficulty asking anyone for help but they have found a balance that seems to respect that and not be intrusive or demanding). And I truly hate being "seen" when so low.

Any words of support would be lovely and feel free to talk about your own challenges and concerns about personal health, aging, and well being.

And the last time I was "out" in my neighborhood I took this pic of the rowers out practicing for the coming regatta. You might have to embiggen.

Good Exhaustion/Bad Exhaustion

 Why did it take me all my life to sort this one out?

If I'm performing creative/interesting/inspiring work I can be tired but happy.

If I'm doing basic maintenance of self and surroundings, I can be tired but cranky and irritable.

It all takes the same amount of energy (the spoons) but the end result is far, far different.

Dishes can knock me out, standing, even meditating (thanks Kate), slopping around in the water, does me in. A cheery heart while doing mundane tasks does not come easy to me. Gratitude for being able to stand at all evaporates.

What I resent most about bad exhaustion is that is zaps me from any other activities. I'm not a methodical person by nature and I've tried everything - a reward of, say, a phone call, after the dishes are done doesn't work for me. I am too tired.

Whereas working on crafting (currently that sofa blanker is now heading into the stratosphere of 2 feet, thank you very much after so many fails), can see me making the call and knitting at the same time in complete bliss.

Finding a balance is difficult for me at the best of times. I do plot out my days, I do have an agenda with all the necessary tasks listed, nothing ambitious or even moderately over extending myself, but the overwhelm is present just about all the time. Call it Irish Catholic Guilt, engrained since birth. Today I feel up for the weekly family Zoom.

I attended an online retreat this morning, I wrote two cards to friends, made my lunch, took my gallon of pills, started on the Words for Wednesday post, read a couple of chapters of my latest book, played 14 games of Lexulous (stretching the old brain, a daily event for like, 15 years now).  Meditated some. Worked on a memoir and a poem for a competition.

And yes I got dressed, braided my stupid long, long hair, and am now writing this post. I will march shuffle the 10 miles of halls to drop the cards in the mailbox in the main lobby later on tonight and see if I can stick my name on the weekly Covid laundry schedule and then fingers crossed, I am actually not too exhausted to fulfil that obligation.

So on it goes, a peak into my day.

And the dishes sigh on in the sink. But I am good exhausted.

Bate Out

Yesterday the Everest of Banking, Library-ing, mailouts, and a grocery dabble (my curbside pickup is on strike) took place. Along with bed-changing, showering and dishwashing.

I didn't count the spoons.

The library had what they called a "soft opening". The librarians were behind plexi-glass but encouraged shelf browsing. I didn't. It was all I could do to pick up the three books they had on hold for me. But delighted I am with these as I was running a little low on my stockpile and that creates panic and you don't want to be around that.

I managed to cruise a little island inside the grocery store which had those display items of non-matchy things. Like grapes beside beef-rolls and lemon meringue pie beside spinach dip. All of which I bought as I felt like I was on death's door and couldn't move beyond this island of ill-matched goods. So yes, now I have a large thingie of cabbage rolls too and a chicken pot pie for a family of farmers and assorted little cheeses and oh 8 Portuguese rolls.

But I'll stretch the magnificent melange out into a semblance of kinda sorta meals.

I was sitting on the only bench outside the checkout area when a friend tinged and said she was in the grocery store and did I need....?

She came wandering out in surprise and told me I looked like death warmed up. Just what I wanted to hear.

So I got home, finally. A sad, trudging, and deathlike carapace of a human. Only to hear news that an old friend in Ontario had died after 3 years of awful and relentless cancer.

So I did what you would do, crawled into bed and stayed there. Thinking of times past and grieving and then thinking reach out to some younger people. Which I did. And they sent me pictures of completed projects and flowers.

But I'm still bate out as I type. Bate out? An Irish expression. Finished. Can't lift the pinky for a cuppa.

But hell, yes, we march on.

Amuse-Bouche
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Crash-boom

It was one of those days today, I had a serious run-on of PGs, needs must as they say, and then no more bookings for about 10 days. I need the time for me, for other stuff that calls. Sometimes I wish I was in my forties again, with the life experience of my own age behind me but the sheer ENERGY of my forties would be lovely.

But elder exhaustion caught up with me and I took two naps. One before a meeting in the morning and then one after my Book Club Meet in the afternoon before a fire department meeting in the evening. I know. But tomorrow is MINE all mine. I get excited about mine days. No one pulling on my sleeves for anything. No meetings, no people.

I took the pic yesterday after a social event. Fog and uncertain sun and calm seas and sand. I trudged across the beach with the dog and the camera.

I said to her: "We'd better make it through the winter old girl, what do you say?"

Her back end is uncertain, lots of helpful mats on the floor, sometimes a small assist from me to get her cranked up in the morning. She's thinner. But gameball. That's all that matters now. Gameball.