I hate that I have to find encouragement, to be pleased, to pat myself on the back for accomplishing trivia. I know, I really do understand that it is good that I can do anything. I was never cut out to do nothing. Being on disability and unable to work has not been a good thing for me in many ways.

But I have to get up every day. I must. I have to feel like a real live girl (Stu and I used the metaphor of "a real live boy" a lot in talking about things. It was how I was able to bring him reality, how I could go and tell him sad stuff, complain to him, ask his advice. Because he was all there, and when I would do this - and not protect him, as I did for a long time - he would feel far more like himself.) I do tend to cheer myself on. I know I'm supposed to and I'm aware, from a distance, how challenging my life is at the moment.

Today - up dressed and out by 12:30 (yippee?) to the post office to mail a package, buy stamps commemorating the March on Washington (yes!) and thence to the grocery store for pills, plastic wrap and breakfast. Yay, me.

I know I know, I do, but dammit. I miss having energy. There are a number of reasons I lack energy - of course, age, disability, pain and Stu's death and grieving. Knowing doesn't help though, does it?

I remember my younger self and wonder, sometimes, "how the fuck did I get here?" I worry that if my younger self saw me now, she would not recognize me. I think of what I was able to do and I miss it. Oh, so much. Of late, it's been remembering everything from doing those summer musicals during high school to working Ops/C&C at a convention until all hours. It's been remembering getting up and Ick O'clock in the morning to get to a demonstration, a march. It's remembering chairing two conventions, ten years apart (yeah, and that second one was a bad idea but I am forever grateful to those who pulled it off.). I remember taking a 3 day cruise by myself on the Mystic Whaler, driving to Stockbridge to hear Joan sing, or Mary Travers. I remember. And I miss it. Dreadfully.

We all have patience we don't know we possess until we must call on it. I first learned about patience at Mass General after my first back surgery when I ended up with staph and had to spend two extra weeks in the hospital because of it. And having had major surgery and lots of anesthesia, I was unable to concentrate on much. I came out of that time - Summer, 1974 - a different person.

Yeah, it's there. I have it. Patience. But dammit I don't care right now

It's not helping. I hate acknowledging my pretty major limitations and telling myself how tough and strong I am because I finally sent Kevin a gift and then I bought plastic wrap. Oh yippee. Yay. Hurray.