other times

Sometimes it's a rough day. 

Sometimes it's an off week. 

Sometimes it's a mug of warm tea and a good book kind of afternoon. 

Sometimes it's an hour of silent sobbing in the bathroom. 

Sometimes it's a horribly lonely bout with depression. 

Sometimes it's abject fear of going to sleep, because what could I wake without tomorrow? My vision? My semi-working legs? My ability to speak and sing and smile?

Other times it's a plan for a violent, angry, thoroughly visceral painting. It's envisioning every punch, every slap, every expression of my feelings toward the betrayal of my body. Because fuck MS. 

It Goes to 11.

Presently in hospital for an eye issue, got diagnosed with MS. Two brain lesions. Next up: the spinal tap. 

My body is the lemon on the car lot of health. At least the staff here are wonderfully caring and will give me the xanny I need to get through this horror show. 

naptime, aka continued hope this is all a terrible dream. 

To Eleven

The overheating that goes along with the fibromyalgia causes the ibs to act up which increases stress which starts the whole process all over again with added insomnia which makes me overheat which upsets my guts and so on and so on until hey it's morning so it's time to eat food take pills which kicks the ibs back into gear and with that comes the nigh inevitable overheating and did I mention the pain in every muscle and joint yet because that's a constant occurrence that had a beginning once upon a time but has no end in sight no matter how many meds I take or life changes I adhere to or diets I adopt at my team of doctors' advice there is no end. 

So I breathe. 

Turn the meditation to eleven. Inhale. Exhale. Find the joy in the moment. 

One of the cats gallumphs onto my lap. 

Breathe. 

Sandpaper on my pinkie, and I am lost in the calm of his purring, his one shining eye. Breathe.