Service and M.O.T. For Me.

Or to be less cryptic, a good long visit from my occupational therapist.

She's happy with what I am trying to do, (and not to do) and the way I'm thinking about my condition, and about life with it.

("Life?  Don't talk to me about life. Hate it, ignore it, you can't like it.")

But it's still all about pacing, working on getting rest enough by quantity and quality, while also finding (without devoting excessive effort) enough acceptable activities and distractions to make life at least tolerable and help avoid a tailspin into hopeless despair and depression.

"You know you have CFS, when you can't even make it to the Paralympics as a spectator."
What would a suitable Paralympics event be for me and those like me?
Undressage?  (no, not stripping: the challenge of looking cool and dignified while wearing battered pyjamas or lounging outfits.)

So: so far, so good, nothing drastic to do except what I'm doing, and maybe a bit more of the same, keeping an even more careful track of when activity is eating into those five-minute slots.

On which, since the positive, helpful and necessary visit was that little bit over an hour long, I'm in debt for thirteen hours of pure rest.

That's not a practical thing to recoup, so I'm going to be significantly below *my* par tomorrow, and perhaps on Thursday too, even as I try to keep my activity very low to afford some compensation.

Such is the cost of a visitor.