I have ceased knowing how to recognize progress. Is busyness progress? Or is it taking me away from the things I need to be doing to accomplish all that I need to do? I spent the day in my various kinds of meetings today, and I did a whole lot. But did I do anything? I haven't suddenly found a steady income or finished one of my novels-in-progress. I talked to a lot of people, and felt less like an outsider than I have in a year. Maybe that is progress. But progress toward what goal, I have no idea.
I found out where my volunteer aspirations need to be aimed, and I need to drum up participants right away. I am going to be asking all Front Range friends and acquaintances to help me on this one, and I'm going to talk about it frequently. I'm pretty sure I've said already that all of the local Rotary groups are banding together to hold a mass pie-in-the-face "event" called Throw Down at Pie Noon. To raise money for all of our youth programs, we are trying to bring together roughly a thousand people into one closed-off city block to break a Guinness record for the biggest pie fight. This will be on August 27th. What I need (other than participants... I will be stumping for that too, so be prepared) is a team of volunteers who are willing to help prepare the pies (putting whipped cream on paper plates), or help set up and transfer said pies from refrigerators to tables to participants' hands. I am still working on specifics, so there will be more coming. You've been warned.
I have found myself moving better in the last few days. I can't tell whether it's due to the medications kicking in, to me handling stress better, or to the "cross fiber" work that my massage therapist did Saturday. Whatever is going on, I am walking more, and taking longer, more relaxed strides. I had been knotted up with stress and pain for so long (since January) that I had forgotten I was capable of normal motion. It's making the rest of my life with autoimmune seem much less daunting, knowing that periods of remission, when I move like a normal human, are actually going to be possible. I had had my doubts.
Maybe as my life starts to move forward again, without all of these roadblocks, I will find my fiction flowing again. For the umpteenth time in a row, I've arrived on a sharing night at writers group with no new tales to tell. We even had a series of photographs for prompts that were quite provocative, and I couldn't string two words together for them. I've been bone dry for flash fiction. Once I'm done with the drama in my own life, the imaginary drama may return. My fellow group members were in fine form this evening, with dark and poignant works. I'd like to be able to keep up with the Joneses again.
Until then, I guess I'll just take what the others offer: their words and their treats. Who knew that day lilies were delicious, with a little cream cheese? (Oh, right, the bunnies in my back yard already knew.)
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