Wednesday was a day of "I can." I wrote music. I went to a friend's superlative (can't really italicize/emphasize that word enough) lecture on science fiction and mythology. Talked a little bit to his wife about another project they're undertaking, the lessons learned from which could very well be invaluable to a project I've been thinking about, quite literally, for years. Which could be done from my computer and which wouldn't be impaired by any of my physical challenges.
Thursday was a day of "I can't." No energy. Didn't want to leave the bed. Body was malfunctioning as ever, but yesterday it was harder to deal with, somehow. A very long list of "Haven't we been working on that? Hadn't we been making some headway on that?" issues that all of my medical folks have been directly confronting, and it was though they had been doing nothing about them. Ever. Extra darkness added by projections about "Is insurance gonna pay for a procedure that I've been postponing but probably can't any longer... If I can't stay out of bed long enough to write Christmas music, am I gonna be able to deal with 9th graders in September... Summer has always been my 'big accomplishment' season and so far I've accomplished nothing... My wife has never been happier, she may very well have found her true calling in life and she's so unbelievably good at, and radiant because of, what she's doing; and I refuse to let my condition put a stop to that but I can't possibly be helping her..." Oscar Ichazo calls this mental noise-making chicharrero, the sound of a cricket chirping.
It's also a word for someone who makes kazoos; which really puts this mental rattling in its place. But whatever its English meaning, you can be sure: as the saying goes, it don't make you smarter.
Today, so far, is a day of "maybe." Enough of the body works well enough to do what I need; at the moment, at least. The crickets are silent; at the moment, at least. I got out of bed and came to the computer to do this. While at the computer, I'm going to work on some music.
We'll see how it goes.
Which simple philosophy, honestly, needs to be not so much a cry of despair as it has become, recently. I normally sound like Eeyore when I say that... Eeyore, the ever-so-cheerful. "I suppose they will be sending me down the odd bits which got trodden on. Kind and Thoughtful. Not at all, don't mention it."
And as the saying goes, that don't make me smarter either.