Wednesday, 4 July 2012

"For the rain it raineth every day"

"When that I was and a little tiny boy,
    With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
    For the rain it raineth every day."  

And it has been raining effectively every day, with weeks of it to come by all the forecasts.
So, lots of literal days with rain in them which are probably more depressing for Cornish tourists, bar surfers, than for me.  As long as the roof does what it is supposed to, the literal rain is not much of a bother.
Metaphorical rain, now that's something else that raineth every day with CFS/ME.  The pains, the muscle weakness, the periods of brain fog,  the lapses of concentration and coordination,  the frustration at fatigue and inability, the discipline of careful pacing: spooning out tiny portions of energy and activity, and choosing what need is going to get the meagre ration and what desired thing is going to get none.

Finding a roof that shelters from that, now there's a challenge.
(Remembering that not much energy or effort must be put into meeting this challenge, as it's in short supply.  Catch 22 or nearby number.  If I had lots of energy to tackle the problem I wouldn't have it in the first place.)

Given time, probably years, there is a reasonable chance of recovery.  But not a certain hope, and unreliable hope can be a dangerous thing if counted on, or trusted overmuch.
I've had hope turn to dust on me before, in different contexts; let's not place too much weight there.

What takes some sting out of the rain is staying clear of any sense of guilt, or "why me" or "it's not fair" etc.  Stuff just happens, and there's no rule at all that it has to be fair.  A quick look up and away from one's own navel gives plenty of evidence for lack of fairness well spread around, and lack of unique grounds for "woe is me!"

Anything else?   A good measure of acceptance, quiet resignedness if you must, works for me and it has lasted so far.  No guarantees.
"You play the ball from where it lies" is a basic concept in golf.
Wishing it was somewhere better achieves little.  Especially as an illustration for life.  In golf you might be able to cheat.

And lastly back Shakespeare, in a way he probably never intended.  Finding those little bits of foolish fun to change the colour of a day, or even of an hour or a minute.
If one took this too seriously it would oppress even more.
Laughing at adversity, with black humour if necessary, is a long-standing  human resource.  Possibly a little out-of-fashion in these sensitive times, and the worse for it.

And there's always playing with toys.  Or kittens.  Or silly YouTube videos.  Or whatever provides a few moment's respite from the rain, to prove it isn't every day and all day.

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