Winter is beloved by some folks out there as a wonderland of snow, brisk climate and sports that occur on mountains. I am not one of those folks; no, I am one of those who despises the chill in the air. When the temperature plunges, my pain levels rise and I end up as I am today: on bed rest. I've got my laptop, my phone, my cat and my husband in the other room, ready to assist me at a moment's notice, so I'm much better off than I could be... but still. I don't like having to stay in bed all day! I much prefer to be up and about at 6am, making tea and toast and planning out what creative crap I'll come up with that day. Not today, though, and if my knees don't stop their incessant bitching, not tomorrow either.
It Could Be Worse.
I know, I know; it really could be so much worse! That's been my mantra for over a decade now, and one that works sometimes but not nearly as often as I'd like. It could be worse, though; I could be unable to walk at all, or unable to type, to read, to paint or to sculpt. I could be homeless, living under a bridge in the city, or living with a disease much more volatile than fibromyalgia and the rest of my wee little list of ailments.
It Could Be Worse.
But you know what? It could also be a fuckload better. I could still be going dancing each weekend, or taking the trolley downtown, or going hiking, or doing my 2 hour workouts each morning as I used to. My knees could have been formed correctly, my cartilage could still be happily cushioning my every bend and twist, my nerves could have been normal and kept the pain signals at a reasonable, normal level - but none of that happened. What did happen is that my life became a daily challenge, and thanks to that challenge, my art has blossomed. My brain has slowed down a bit, but my creative grey matter bits popped open a six pack of Red Bull and went for it.
So yes, It Could Be Worse, and It Could Be Better, but it couldn't be anything other than what it is; I'm glad that it is at all, because the alternative isn't.
