As the punchline from the old Irish joke has it, it would probably better to start from somewhere else, but what can one do?
Why now? I now need some sort of record of my days, lest they merge into one. What that homogenised average would be I don't want to think about, but have to.
And today my head is in a place where other distractions or workarounds don't seem to be taking.
"Today is the first day of the rest of your life": that bad, huh?
I managed to get up, get washed and dressed, and then had to lie down for three hours. This in consequence of attempting fifteen minutes of light gardening yesterday. Such is life. My life currently, anyway
Welcome to the world of someone with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (or M.E. if you prefer) as observed by someone with Asperger's Syndrome and a history of depressive illness. Fortunately also with a very functional (if sometimes black and twisted) sense of humour.
Three years ago I could go to the beach at Bedruthan Steps (probably the best beach in Cornwall:) for fun, despite the impressive cliff stair.
Those tiny dots on the shoreline are couples: "the crowds". The beach does not exist at high tide.
Now, except on a very good day, I wouldn't even try to drive to the car park at the top.
Three years ago I could spent a morning dry-stone walling with no ill-effect except a desire for a swim, and for lunch.
Now, putting away a week's groceries (delivered) can leave my arms aching, and may have to be a two-bites job with hours of rest intervening.
No, I'd rather not be starting from here, but whoever said the world has been arranged for my perfect personal convenience?
In my perfect world I'd be happily married to Angelina Jolie, which would hardly be her perfect world, except in mine it would be.
Which just shows ideal or perfect worlds don't really cut it, logically.
Let's deal with the one we've got.
A day at a time.