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Feb. 12th, 2009 04:49 pmMy friends are amazingly accurate prophets. Well, some of them are.
"Gillian, if you meet all your deadlines, you're also going to hurt again."
My deadlines moved and all hit at once, you see. Some of those folks around me these last few weeks did everything they were supposed to and more, one stepped in and saved the day entirely at one point, but others dipped out even more entirely. My favourite curse was brought out of hiding and was at the ready - I nearly used it too, the day I had to work 18 hours straight.
Since my father died (twenty-two days ago - I can stop counting soon) my life has been made up of other peoples' crises. All the projects I am involved in are on schedule. This is a very good thing. My basic state of bodily health was going to pay for all the extra work I did for people who couldn't answer emails or do what they promised they'd do. It was only a question of when. This is one of the givens of being chronically ill.
Today was brick wall day. Still is. Ow. Even very ow. That's the minus side.
The plus side is that I keep having to go to bed and sleep and pain produces really, really interesting dreams. My favourite one so far was when someone from my LJ f-list decided he could produce great writers from the dross that is us. He put up posts containing his old poetry and he announced that, if we contemplated a certain poem for exactly thirty-five minutes, we could find perfect inspiration. I printed the poem out (and it came out in colour on my black and white printer - such was this person's genius) and started looking at it, but I kept on being distracted by cats. Three of them. How they got into my flat and how my flat turned out to be a corner of my childhood home is obviously the inspiration I was supposed to derive from some very ordinary poetry.
Being a lucid dreamer, I recognised that my pain levels were abating when things started turning to cats and to my childhood (I love cats - I'm not so sure about my childhood), so I woke myself up and am now going to have a cuppa. Right now I am in moderate pain only and just feel completely exhausted. I'm over the worst and I have a treasurehouse of dreams, to boot.
Now my day can begin properly.
"Gillian, if you meet all your deadlines, you're also going to hurt again."
My deadlines moved and all hit at once, you see. Some of those folks around me these last few weeks did everything they were supposed to and more, one stepped in and saved the day entirely at one point, but others dipped out even more entirely. My favourite curse was brought out of hiding and was at the ready - I nearly used it too, the day I had to work 18 hours straight.
Since my father died (twenty-two days ago - I can stop counting soon) my life has been made up of other peoples' crises. All the projects I am involved in are on schedule. This is a very good thing. My basic state of bodily health was going to pay for all the extra work I did for people who couldn't answer emails or do what they promised they'd do. It was only a question of when. This is one of the givens of being chronically ill.
Today was brick wall day. Still is. Ow. Even very ow. That's the minus side.
The plus side is that I keep having to go to bed and sleep and pain produces really, really interesting dreams. My favourite one so far was when someone from my LJ f-list decided he could produce great writers from the dross that is us. He put up posts containing his old poetry and he announced that, if we contemplated a certain poem for exactly thirty-five minutes, we could find perfect inspiration. I printed the poem out (and it came out in colour on my black and white printer - such was this person's genius) and started looking at it, but I kept on being distracted by cats. Three of them. How they got into my flat and how my flat turned out to be a corner of my childhood home is obviously the inspiration I was supposed to derive from some very ordinary poetry.
Being a lucid dreamer, I recognised that my pain levels were abating when things started turning to cats and to my childhood (I love cats - I'm not so sure about my childhood), so I woke myself up and am now going to have a cuppa. Right now I am in moderate pain only and just feel completely exhausted. I'm over the worst and I have a treasurehouse of dreams, to boot.
Now my day can begin properly.