resting is hard
I'm finding that anything less than laying prone half asleep causes a flare-up, but that sleeping a lot, laying around a lot, is actually promoting measureable healing. So I'm giving myself an honest pass to nap copiously and accomplish nothing more than what can't be ignored.
Today I got Sam's cage clean, for instance. But no house vacuuming or floor cleaning.
I'm feeling like maybe, just maybe, if I can stop the inflammation from coming on, I can heal the damage and the blockage won't cause me too much grief.
Days like this give me the hope back. I get so scared when it just keeps happening, irrespective of diet, stress, etc.
However, I am beginning to notice how I put all my alertness into my belly. Whether I"m becoming animated in conversation, doing work, or focussing too much, or getting stressed by something. All goes into my waist. My back and my belly both go haywire and the muscle spasms make it all the way to my ankles some days. Certainly, there's serious problems with my posture. I can't get myself to sit up straight correctly. I ramrod up like a ballerina, thrusting my stomach first and curving my back. That's that "lumbar lordosis" so then I correct that and go back to thinking about what I"m doing and before I know it, I"m hunched over in concentration, laziness, and a sense of general intensity that, again, means a tight belly. Not long after that, pain makes me hunch and tighten even more!
So I've got a large haul ahead of me to heal. Not only must I heal the open wound, but I must learn to notice both hunching and tensing and correct it repeatedly. Also I must learn to stay in a very calm state. Walk slower, move slower, give myself permission to move like an old woman even if I can pick up my speed physically. The speedier movement feels younger, I guess. Not that I can't eventually be healthy enough to kick up my heels when I choose, but I must first learn to slow down and be an old woman, and own it. No shame, no accepting of impatience or intolerance, no letting others embarrass me over myself.
I saw this video from an eastern European city. The town square had music and a crowd. The music was a really powerful industrial/dub-step tune, about twenty years old now, and this woman my age was dancing joyfully to it. Behind her, all the people stood passively, showing little expression, looking away from the embarrassing old fat woman moving so unseemly. One little bitch teenager even mocked her behind her back. The woman was leading the way and the lemmings were too stupid to realize it. Saskatoon feels like that kind of place for me. I remember in the 80s, these wild women of maturity who wore bright clothes and were too friendly and chatty. I remember not understanding them, feeling frightened. I think I knew I'd have to be that brave one day, that I'd be that woman, but somehow I thought I wouldn't, that I would do it somehow in a way that wouldn't get ridiculed. But I see myself now just like that, and sure enough there's all these teenaged girls who fancy themselves as deputized fashion police. They enforce the fashion laws via bullying and abuse.
I haven't been doing too badly. Dan noticed some bitch faces at my hat but I got four compliments in a row at three different places that day because, frankly, I look rad. Weird, yeah, but awesome! Hehehe. Okay, well, maybe I sound like I lack humility, but that's what pride sounds like! Is it unfounded pride? No, dammit, I AM cool. You'd see it if you saw me breeze through by you, sailing along as though I were six feet tall instead of just over five. Purple platform footwear, hand woven pants, vintage magenta peacoat, and tall purple hat. Seriously, it's fun to wear.
I just wish I'd tried harder to be friendly with those weird women of my youth. Granted, only one really comes to mind and she did not speak english. She yapped constantly, but I didn't understand her and she never understood anything I tried to say.
I've been continuing to watch youtube videos on living in a vehicle, be it a van, rv, bus, or even new tiny house videos. I don't know how exactly it'll work with Dan or getting enough vehicles for us both. I'm waiting to see if he can make the necessary behaviour changes to stop yelling at me. Last night he dropped a jar on the way into the cupboard. It landed on the counter and hit a teapot full of warm tea. As that went nuts and splashed all over, the tassimo was making me a cup of peppermint tea and went crazy and dumped too much water into the cup. So I'm in the bathroom, having a moment with god, and I hear first the crash, then "THIS IS *YOUR* FAULT!!!!!!" I'm sure that's when Timmy ran for his safe place. He's got a fabric and foam doghouse with an electric pet bed inside it. He hides there when he's scared or can't get warm.
So I heard this, called out "who in the hell are you talking to?" I don't know if he heard that but frankly I knew he meant me.
So I spent the night cleaning up for him after calming him down. Told him it's not something about fault, it's an accident. Then I told him that by pitching his own fit, after his normal human slip of the finger, he stole from me an opportunity to express my own feelings. I couldn't complain because I had to make light to calm him down and was that fair? Then this morning I reiterated that looking for blame is useless and pointless in adults, that's only useful for teaching kids, if at all. He really has a lot of roughage to trim in one winter. It's looking promising right now, but we've had these bright spots before and it doesn't mean he's not going to crack up again in a week or two! So now I'm tensing myself out again and that's bad so I'll quit.
I'm compiling in my head a simple list of solutions for bus living that will allow me to just move into a shell and set up house. Furniture can be anchored down easily enough. I will also have to think of ways to anchor drawers I suppose. Well anyway, that kind of stuff is usually pretty easy to figure out.
I just realized, a portable propane powered camp shower is all I need to pair with my blue barrel bathtub and some vinyl curtain. I plan on having a really basic composting toilet bucket set into a bathtub made of blue barrel. When I wish to use the tub, I pick up the bucket and set it to the side. I am not sure the idea is practical, the bucket alone means no liquid diversion, so it gets icky more easily. A better system would mean I'm picking up all that liquid urine and a much larger unit. I may well need to dedicate bath space to have any at all.
Well, if Dan decides he needs to earn a couple grand for his bus, I expect he'll pull it off. It's just, we seem only able to work up a couple grand for a purchase like that once every couple years! Well, if Dan's not yelling at me, I can stand an extra year here. It's really going to be that simple. If he treats me and Timmy like an old woman and a baby, we'll stay.
I'm not demanding romance, here, just respect and courtesy!
Today I got Sam's cage clean, for instance. But no house vacuuming or floor cleaning.
I'm feeling like maybe, just maybe, if I can stop the inflammation from coming on, I can heal the damage and the blockage won't cause me too much grief.
Days like this give me the hope back. I get so scared when it just keeps happening, irrespective of diet, stress, etc.
However, I am beginning to notice how I put all my alertness into my belly. Whether I"m becoming animated in conversation, doing work, or focussing too much, or getting stressed by something. All goes into my waist. My back and my belly both go haywire and the muscle spasms make it all the way to my ankles some days. Certainly, there's serious problems with my posture. I can't get myself to sit up straight correctly. I ramrod up like a ballerina, thrusting my stomach first and curving my back. That's that "lumbar lordosis" so then I correct that and go back to thinking about what I"m doing and before I know it, I"m hunched over in concentration, laziness, and a sense of general intensity that, again, means a tight belly. Not long after that, pain makes me hunch and tighten even more!
So I've got a large haul ahead of me to heal. Not only must I heal the open wound, but I must learn to notice both hunching and tensing and correct it repeatedly. Also I must learn to stay in a very calm state. Walk slower, move slower, give myself permission to move like an old woman even if I can pick up my speed physically. The speedier movement feels younger, I guess. Not that I can't eventually be healthy enough to kick up my heels when I choose, but I must first learn to slow down and be an old woman, and own it. No shame, no accepting of impatience or intolerance, no letting others embarrass me over myself.
I saw this video from an eastern European city. The town square had music and a crowd. The music was a really powerful industrial/dub-step tune, about twenty years old now, and this woman my age was dancing joyfully to it. Behind her, all the people stood passively, showing little expression, looking away from the embarrassing old fat woman moving so unseemly. One little bitch teenager even mocked her behind her back. The woman was leading the way and the lemmings were too stupid to realize it. Saskatoon feels like that kind of place for me. I remember in the 80s, these wild women of maturity who wore bright clothes and were too friendly and chatty. I remember not understanding them, feeling frightened. I think I knew I'd have to be that brave one day, that I'd be that woman, but somehow I thought I wouldn't, that I would do it somehow in a way that wouldn't get ridiculed. But I see myself now just like that, and sure enough there's all these teenaged girls who fancy themselves as deputized fashion police. They enforce the fashion laws via bullying and abuse.
I haven't been doing too badly. Dan noticed some bitch faces at my hat but I got four compliments in a row at three different places that day because, frankly, I look rad. Weird, yeah, but awesome! Hehehe. Okay, well, maybe I sound like I lack humility, but that's what pride sounds like! Is it unfounded pride? No, dammit, I AM cool. You'd see it if you saw me breeze through by you, sailing along as though I were six feet tall instead of just over five. Purple platform footwear, hand woven pants, vintage magenta peacoat, and tall purple hat. Seriously, it's fun to wear.
I just wish I'd tried harder to be friendly with those weird women of my youth. Granted, only one really comes to mind and she did not speak english. She yapped constantly, but I didn't understand her and she never understood anything I tried to say.
I've been continuing to watch youtube videos on living in a vehicle, be it a van, rv, bus, or even new tiny house videos. I don't know how exactly it'll work with Dan or getting enough vehicles for us both. I'm waiting to see if he can make the necessary behaviour changes to stop yelling at me. Last night he dropped a jar on the way into the cupboard. It landed on the counter and hit a teapot full of warm tea. As that went nuts and splashed all over, the tassimo was making me a cup of peppermint tea and went crazy and dumped too much water into the cup. So I'm in the bathroom, having a moment with god, and I hear first the crash, then "THIS IS *YOUR* FAULT!!!!!!" I'm sure that's when Timmy ran for his safe place. He's got a fabric and foam doghouse with an electric pet bed inside it. He hides there when he's scared or can't get warm.
So I heard this, called out "who in the hell are you talking to?" I don't know if he heard that but frankly I knew he meant me.
So I spent the night cleaning up for him after calming him down. Told him it's not something about fault, it's an accident. Then I told him that by pitching his own fit, after his normal human slip of the finger, he stole from me an opportunity to express my own feelings. I couldn't complain because I had to make light to calm him down and was that fair? Then this morning I reiterated that looking for blame is useless and pointless in adults, that's only useful for teaching kids, if at all. He really has a lot of roughage to trim in one winter. It's looking promising right now, but we've had these bright spots before and it doesn't mean he's not going to crack up again in a week or two! So now I'm tensing myself out again and that's bad so I'll quit.
I'm compiling in my head a simple list of solutions for bus living that will allow me to just move into a shell and set up house. Furniture can be anchored down easily enough. I will also have to think of ways to anchor drawers I suppose. Well anyway, that kind of stuff is usually pretty easy to figure out.
I just realized, a portable propane powered camp shower is all I need to pair with my blue barrel bathtub and some vinyl curtain. I plan on having a really basic composting toilet bucket set into a bathtub made of blue barrel. When I wish to use the tub, I pick up the bucket and set it to the side. I am not sure the idea is practical, the bucket alone means no liquid diversion, so it gets icky more easily. A better system would mean I'm picking up all that liquid urine and a much larger unit. I may well need to dedicate bath space to have any at all.
Well, if Dan decides he needs to earn a couple grand for his bus, I expect he'll pull it off. It's just, we seem only able to work up a couple grand for a purchase like that once every couple years! Well, if Dan's not yelling at me, I can stand an extra year here. It's really going to be that simple. If he treats me and Timmy like an old woman and a baby, we'll stay.
I'm not demanding romance, here, just respect and courtesy!