Monday, 2 July 2012

",,,Creeps in this petty pace..."

Creeping it is, rather, when the domestic round eats up much of the day, and it takes deliberate work and effort (Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!) to make one day feel at all different from the next.
Noting the variation of aches, pains, fatigues and disabilities really doesn't suffice, on its own, as there is always going to be some combination of these.  Add such to death and taxes, for CFS?

Today I did some washing, and to clear up a little energy reserve for that I didn't wash.  Or shave.
Yes, just that number of arm movements can count, and lifting wet clothes from the washing machine is best allowed for.

I wasn't expecting visitors, so no-one was offended, and with no washing to do I can wash tomorrow.

It is a petty-paced life: it can't be anything else really as the cost of a sudden burst of activity is crippling beyond the normal level of being crippled.
(Crippled and creeping belong together, by etymology... I don't object to the term, personally: it is accurate and descriptive.  Others may not be happy with it.)
That doesn't of necessity go to self-pity.  It's an observation. No more.
It does mean that victories, achievements and pleasures are going to be equally small-scale.
Except, perhaps, when measured by the scale of the rest of the day.

A few cryptic crossword clues cracked is an advance, a gain, a pleasure.


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