So, why do it

FINALLY have the strength to check in with y'all.

My sh**tty typing has already made me regret this choice. Because it took time I could be spending on better things and spent it on correcting grotesque typing errors. Which did not improve my attitude... Anyway:

Made it "off campus" to see a friend from many years ago. She also said farewell to a much beloved job that she had held for more than 20 years (at a very prestigious university). Her job ended very much the way mine did; contemplating "why" even if it did explain everything dispassionately and accurately wouldn't have, or will, make a damned bit of difference, except in changing our understanding... which has its advantages,

I'll be looking into a project beyond this blog to assist others on the MS Highway with their ... adventures, let's say; more info when things are settled.

May plant a cucumber today or tomorrow, probably tomorrow. I hope.

In the animated series Adventure Time, one character says "Hugging helps."

Looking at Facebook commentary and, if I can't stop myself from peeking at it, a lot of today's news, I'd amend that to "Complaining doesn't help." But, Politician X said Y, which of course means (by the author's data-free assumptions) means that what they REALLY think is Z, but since Said Grumbler not being telepathic has no f-ing idea what someone is really thinking... and getting yourself aroused at a delusion definitely doesn't help, you or anyone else.

Or should we say rather, "Complaining doesn't help."

Oh, US MSers would have things to say, if grousing about our situation actually did something. But... as we can see by the people still with MS, complaining doesn't help.

So... why do it?

Something worth practicing

Some musings on loss, and release.

I'm on the knife's edge of dealing with the selling of my truck. I've had this since 1998 or so, I had it rejiggered to enable me to drive it with hand controls, and using said controls, drove it for years.

But not any more. A large stack of details, but basically, there ain't no way for me to drive it, even if I wanted to.

It's hard to find someone or something to yell at for "You stole this from me!" Factual fault off the table for the moment, there have been a person or two whom I have wished I could have yelled at, and maybe even taken some benefit therefrom. Somehow. Maybe...

But things neurological, those aren't as straightforward as Androcles and the lion that could be healed by just pulling out the thorn. My nervous system has, basically, bad wiring. What's to be done? Well, besides "pray without ceasing," as the Good Book says, nothing to be done. Same as aging... That happens, eventually. Yell all you want, if you insist, but all you'll bet is hoarse.

But the truck... it has been my truck! for so long, through thick and thin. And now it's time to bless it and release it.

But I feel no wish to yell at anyone, anything, existing or not. There's no "you took my truck from me! My freedom!" begging to be given voice. No, it's.... Denial? No, it has to be dealt with, I've known it needs dealing with for quite a while now, went through a very very energetically taxing trip to the DMV to get the correct forms.

And all I feel is... Goodbye, old friend. It's not denial, it's not grief, it's... the moment when you're in the dentist's chair and you refer to the tooth that's ... just ready to go... and you just say, "I think it's time to deal with that tooth." And what comes next, you know yourselves, although My Guy was as close to painless as a dentist gets. All our farewells should be that easy to endure.

So that's a good consciousness-change to work on. Say goodbye to condemnation, especially at things that don't actually exist... that takes more effort than we have to give, in this little life of ours, certainly among those of us who have been "accessorized."

The folks in the Science of Mind church would say, "I bless you and release you to your good."

Something worth practicing.

Alive

New "experience" patterns... in the family of things like "when it gets too hot, I feel bad" or "when it gets too cold, I feel bad," which is pretty much the usual, what might even pass as "normal," for us MSers.

But the "new experience" for me seems to involve "hitting the wall." Whatever that may actually be, whine happens, I'm toast, and all I can bear going is lying down and maybe going to sleep, or at worst enjoying favorite cartoons. At most.

I wish I could go down the "cartoon road" more easily. As Rinaldo often says on Steven Universe, "I gotta put this in my blog!" Even that can sometimes be too much. Too often, too much.

This is one of th "first things to do today," so before trying anything else, here I am blogging. But not for long.

Yesterday, my wife pushed me in my wheelchair the block between our house and a local new restaurant. I had bahn mi, something I've been hoping to try for years. Spectacularly excellent baguette, baked quite perfectly! Maybe I should put in a good review on Yelp!

If I have enough energy. Doubtful, alas. But the food was good.

Long before anything arrived at the table, courtesy our exemplary server, I had hit the wall. Simply being taken there had cost most of my energy, and merely sitting up in the restaurant was all that could be asked of me. I managed to stay there until everything had arrived and, I surmise from my wife's smiles, enjoyed! But I was ready to o back to bed. As soon as possible.

I have some very dear friends who want to see me next week. I expect I'll enjoy seeing them for a minute or two; I anticipate that I'll have hit the wall simply by getting out of bed to see them; God help me getting into the car for an exhausting 10, 15 minute drive, because I'll have hit the wall before car has left the driveway.

So, then, what do I do? Well, nobody knows what to do about neurological nonsense, if I don't accept the risk of hitting the wall, I won't see friends whom I love dearly.

Besides following Ram Dass's guru's advice, to love God and tell the truth, what else is there to do?

Is there anything else to do, simply being, as we all are...

Alive?