Fibromyalgia is a funny mistress. She fades in to the background, then leaps out suddenly demanding attention and complaining you’ve been neglecting her. One minute you are left in blissful peace, the next cringing under her wrathful glare.
It’s been a wrathful glare kind of month.
Despite the pain and thickening soup of fog in my brain that makes even deciding what to wear in the morning a monumental task, I have pushed through. I would love to succumb and just crawl back into bed under a halo of heating pads, but I still want to live life.
It’s a delicate balance.
It helps that I have things to look forward to. Last week – a Ladysmith Black Mambazo concert at my theater. I was practically weaned on Paul Simon’s Graceland album, so missing Ladysmith was completely out of the question. I bucked up, hopped the bus, and blissed out 4 rows back to the humor, beats, and vocal harmonizing of a South African musical treasure.
Coffee with a friend. Planning for a future trip. Flying home to my hometown. Even a new, fresh magazine, still scented in a cloud of perfume samples. I focus on motivations, however large and small, to pull me out of bed and through the fibro gauntlet.
Today, it’s a desire to walk to work in gorgeous, unseasonal spring-like weather. The snow is almost gone; it could be late March in Wisconsin. I almost expect to see the daffodils peeking out.
In a couple of weeks I’ll get my chance when I fly home to Portland, Oregon. Family, friends, the mountains, waterfalls, and craggy coastline all await to embrace me back into the fold. Now if that’s not motivation to get up everyday, I don’t know what is.