Monday 24 November 2014

One of those days.

(Image: a painting by Giorgos Rorris, Androniki 2013 oil on canvas 75 x 65 cm. A woman with dark hair sits slumped on a cream and tan lounge chair. She wears a purple and white check dress and grey duster jacket. A wooden table with small items is seen in the bottom left of frame. The woman looks tired.)

Today was one of those days.

In truth it began yesterday when I walked from the bedroom to the lounge to speak to Mr Grumpy. Only to disappear behind the couch as the world went black and my legs buckled as if their bones had suddenly been vapourised. Unphased by my disappearing act, Mr Grumpy remain seated on the couch.

Do you need a hand?

Give me a minute.


He remained reading a book on his tablet, waiting for me to compose myself. More concerned that I was about to smash my favourite coffee mug than any stress over my state. My 40th birthday present to myself. He knew I'd be more upset about breaking that than any limb. I appreciate that more than words. No fuss. It's a gift. He knows me so well.

I struggled back to a seated position. My legs trembling and world spinning. A few words to let him know that I was ready to be picked up and poured back into bed.

A foray back to home and family to eat some tea. Before being carried, slurring, back to bed after collapsing sideways from a seated position on the couch. Exhaustion, pain meds and a hot pack all that was needed to fall into a rare deep sleep.

This morning I pushed. I showered. I dressed. I was determined. I had a plucky can do attitude. And then I sat looking at my computer, vague. Words there just out of reach. A jumble of ideas and sentences that I'd just start to understand before they vanished leaving no trace behind.

I drank. I ate. I had more coffee. I sat outside in the cool air and the rain. I sat and I stared.

It's a hard place to inhabit. The Vague Lands. Empty. A part of me has been stripped away. Losing my mind. Losing me. My face numb. My hands numb. I am moving in slow motion. Through treacle. The tremor and pain in my hands worsens. Cramps in my feet curl up some toes and splay others. I can feel the failure looming closer. Quicker. My head heavier. A small flicker of alarm registers in my mind, but is heard through the thickness of decreasing consciousness.

I sit watching a small snail glide down the brick wall of the house. The cool moisture in the air a call to all that it's time to move. To explore. To find its way to another of my pot plants. I envy that snail. Gliding effortlessly. Leaving a glittering trail behind. While I struggle to sit and breathe.

I call for assistance. My youngest to carry my laptop. My limbs too weak and unreliable. I daren't carry anything of value. I lift my feet and stumble through the house. Lead and mud. The dregs of my mind urging me on. Telling me it's not far.

Lady Day continues to play on my lap top. God Bless the Child. I feel more than hear. I have her languid voice on loop.

To fall on the bed in my darkened bedroom. I can hear the rain once more. Heavier now. But more distant. The fine line between passing out and sleep is reached. My youngest grabs me another drink but I am too tired to register it's presence. My response to the question of need merely reflex. Drink? Yes. Heat bag? Yes. Door closed? I'm not sure I answered the last. The darkness overtook me quick or slow I'm not sure. Time was liquid. Indeterminant. Gone.

I awake a few hours later. Sore. I lay where I fell. Curled in a ball on my side. Too exhausted to move. Protesting limbs refuse to move. I breathe through the pain and uncurl. The call of my bladder to strong to deny. And back to bed once more.

My necklace is gone. Did I remove it or someone else? Time and action are lost again.

Everything is short and sharp. Piecemeal. A paucity of words and thoughts. Parts of me misplaced. Words and phrases fall from my mind. Disparate pieces thrown across my mind and the screen before me. I type. Fractured. Exhausted.

It's been one of those days.



  1. beautiful song Michelle. Beautiful, painful words. Thank you so much for sharing your day. Hugs to you from across the ditch.

  2. Those are the longest days! Sending big hugs and I hope that the fog lifts soon xx

  3. Hi Michelle
    Ceaselessly searching for help a few days ago I googled "brain misfiring"........Up came Dr Jaudy and Dysautonomia...what a relief I'm not imagining it's more than ageing , this slide into the abyss of fog and decrepitude . Unfortunately being a broke pensioner I can't go to his clinic in the US I googled again in Australia and found Dr Exelby............are you familiar with either please ? .....Michael

  4. When the world is spinning, and parts of your body are weak and unable to work, feel etc. and the hardest battle you wage is going through the " no mans land" ( my new term for an autonomic crash and burn tail spin)

  5. It is the hardest when you have to close out every thing and ride it out. I feel foe you every time you go thru this. I just try to reach out and let you know your in my thoughts. It is hard to cope with a crash. Praying it will pass soon.

    I know how hard your preserve .... When it is too much never forget all of your friends who visit you on your blog. Although we are scattered around the globe... We are all trying to be there for you in the rough patches ... To listen to your days and let you know we care....

    Big hug and it is good to know when the storm hits... Your not alone in cyber space.

    Praying your strength returns soon..



All who are lovely enough to comment should be showered with cup cakes, glitter and macarons. I promise to use my spoon bending mind powers to try and get that happening for all who are lovely enough to share their words. Those who go the extra step to share posts should really get a free unicorn. Or at least the gift of finding the shortest and quickest line at the supermarket on a regular basis. xx

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