Just Another Day

Inspirational song: Breathless (Jerry Lee Lewis)

This dilemma comes up every so often. Is it better to tell pretty little lies and happy stories so as not to be a downer, or do I tell the truth at the risk of sounding like I'm whining when I don't mean to? I'd love to use the distraction of positive spin like I often do, but I don't have it in me today. I felt awful, and I owe it to the pursuit of truth to admit that.

I do not say this to elicit a response of any sort. You are not obligated to say nice things to me. You're not even required to think charitable thoughts. You're totally allowed to say to yourself, "Again? Geez, she's always bitching about feeling bad." I only hope that somewhere in there it will occur to you how much it sucks from this side, and how reluctant people like me are to bring this up. Most of the time, I don't. I'd rather write about the cats or post pictures of my flowers than admit to days like today. For now, I am out of diversions.

I never got out of pajamas today. I stayed in my cushy rocking chair, feet up on an ottoman, blanket on most of the day (thankfully it was cold and rainy). My arms were sore and weak. I fell asleep a couple times. My mid back hurt like my kidneys wanted to register a complaint. And either as a result of being so still, or maybe the cause of it, my heart rate dropped low enough (54 when I measured) to make me feel breathless and uneasy.

None of this is really noteworthy. It's not unusual. Not a reason to call a doctor. Honestly, I hurt too badly to take painkillers, and all I could do was wait it out. Believe it or not, that's the right answer. Just wait. This is what chronic illness is like. In plain words, lupus hurts. When it hits me like this, I don't need anything other than space, and so I took it. Tomorrow could be totally different, but it has a better chance to be an improvement because I sacrificed all of my plans for today.

I took no pictures today. Not a one. I'll make it up later.