Jan. 7th, 2017

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You know you live in poverty when you see a roach crawling across your kitchen counter and your first thought is "Meh. At least it's not in my food." Or my coffee pot. With the last roach epidemic, I could visibly the miserable creatures crawling underneath the clear, plastic "ON" switch. The roach episodes come and go, usually when we get a new neighbor. We trap and bait and squish the roaches we can see, but it doesn't make much of a dent in their population. Those fuckers breed fast.

Jesse asked, in discussion about relief from our disorders, what things I like to do. Things that uplift me. I thought about it. I thought about it. And I thought about it even more.

Sad ending: There were very few things that I enjoy with impunity and abandon. Eating WAS one of them. Now that I'm on the renal diet, food has become far less exciting. I used to love window shopping. Now it's heads or tails on whether I can even get to the car before the fatigue hits. Playing with my kitties still remains something I can do and enjoy. Painting my nails with complex schemes is also something that I enjoy and continue to do.

Writing, of course, is up there, though sometimes it's something I DON'T enjoy but continue to do nonethless. But overall, the list was very small. I don't think that says good things about me. Like, I should have a hobby. Adults should be expansive and I don't seem to be that.

I'm mostly decent at self-care, and the listening to inspiring speeches on Youtube idea was BRILLIANT, but self-care does not translate into a hobby. Things like knitting or cooking or painting require too much patience (good call, Cinema). Photography has expensive start up costs. I have no interest in learning to play a musical instrument (nor any way to obtain one should the mood strike). I'm not very artsy or crafty. I haven't the energy to volunteer. So I guess the trick is to just think of things I LIKE, overall, and see if there's anything I can do with that.

I think today is going to be a good day. The nausea is there, but waaaaay back in the distance. The trade off is shortness of breath, vertigo, and nearly passing out, but hey, I'll take that over nausea any fucking day.

The deal right now isn't about managing symptoms. It's about learning what symptoms you can put up with and which ones you can't. I can handle fainting couches and smelling salts. I can't handle hanging over the toilet for hours, my stomach swirling like a maelstrom at sea.

All I gotta do is remind myself that I don't need to stand up so fast. Just stand up slowly. Steadily. This is not a race, Teressa. You can avoid at least some of the dizziness if you just rise slowly.

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