Jan. 31st, 2013

gillpolack: (Default)
Today has been another high pain day. I dealt by putting off the thinking work until tomorrow and by doing a full day of little things that needed doing. Papers got sorted and emails got sent and my backlist of tasks undone is significantly smaller. I have my wallchart of tasks to be finished in February setup and staring untidily from the back of the front door. I found all my missing files and have taken suitable action with most of them.

Thanks to a friend's help (lift!) I have sent a wedding present to the UK, a birthday present to NSW, a you-are-a-chef! present to NSW (for the son of the friend whose birthday it was, who has just graduated) and various other things. I've been to the library and to the bank. I've made tomorrow's main meal.

If I can do three more things before bed, it won't be a wasted day by any stretch of the imagination, just a very sore one. And I've been persuaded by my mother that if this level of pain persists past mid-February, I need to see the doctor. I'm pretty sure I know what's causing it (the joys of PMT during perimenopause) but Mum's worrying about how debilitating it is, and I'm beginning to think she's right.

The interesting aspect of these high pain period is the objects around me break in sympathy. I don't have to be touching them, just within about a metre of them.

Today's dramatic breakage was the bar that stops the milk from falling off the door of the fridge. I was forced to drink a half bottle of Brown Brothers' dessert wine. Forced, I tell you!

The wine didn't diminish the pain, but it left me dreadfully drunk during the late afternoon. I need to learn that when this particular set of symptoms means I metabolise alcohol differently. Normally, I don't get drunk at all, but this afternoon I was the opposite. I had to lie down until it faded, which was probably what I should have been doing anyhow, rather than breaking my fridge. The wine was particularly delicious, which I also found interesting - normally I have a limited capacity for anything sweet these days.

I'm not allowed to wash dishes until my capacity to break objects by simply walking past them is a little less strong. I can weep tears over this if you want, but they'd be crocodile tears. If ever I get a place with a dishwasher, I will be a better human being for it.

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