Monday, 9 June 2014

The Ancient and Most Noble Art of Spoon Counting

An art which has been proving since time immemorial that no matter how well figured out you think you have your personal demon of choice’s energy limits, it will wake up one day and kick you for such bare-faced temerity.

It’s warming up as we head into summer here in the UK so this is my best time of year symptom wise. I’m never symptom free but I’m as close as I will ever get during the warmer months. As such I push the boundaries just a little further and for the most part tend to get away with it relatively well.

I think we can safely say that Petunia heard me thinking about this and was not amused. As we know she disapproves of most things which fall under the category “fun” and would much rather I didn’t try and participate in any of it. However, she seems to particularly dislike nights out of the rock music persuasion. She clearly has no taste.

Even if I don’t make general nights out I always like to at least show my face for a bit at birthdays and I’d been looking forward to this one for a while as a chance to see friends from Sheffield for the first in a few months. So, we gave battle with the M1 on Friday evening and braved the wilds of South Yorkshire.
(Note: I was born there so I’m allowed to mock it. Others however are not.)

 The weather stayed relatively warm (if wet) and I purposely didn’t do a great deal during the day on Saturday so as to conserve spoons. The night itself was a great deal of fun and I think we headed home at about half past 1, which is not bad going for me at all.

Sunday passed mostly uneventfully aside from general tiredness. Monday morning however was something else entirely.

It was definitely one of those “kick me” days. I was the sort of tired I would expect to correlate with running a marathon. Three times. In lead boots and carrying sand bags. I ached in places I’m fairly sure it’s been scientifically proven do not exist.    

All that because you don’t like Iron Maiden, Petunia? Really?

I have no idea what the difference was. Possibly the new high heels didn’t help matters as until I’ve had a pair of heels for at least three years I do a remarkable impression of Bambi in the ice-skating scene. “Kinda wobbly, aren’t ya?” would be something of an understatement. Wobbling is a surprisingly spoon-heavy enterprise.

Maybe maxing out your nerd credentials results in a detriment of spoons? Perhaps Petunia just can’t handle the kind of awesome only a Marauder’s Map dress can bring?

(If you were wondering – yes, the dress is exactly what it sounds like.)

I suspect however that the heart of the matter is that it’s just one of those things. We can plan for every eventuality and hoard spoons with military precision but sadly chronic illness is not so exact a science. The same event or occasion can be fine one week and a disaster the following one. A particular activity can be problem free for months on end only to revert to type out of the blue and become troublesome.

Speaking personally this still leads me to decline some things because I can foresee my commitment being an issue further down the line. Despite the circumstances we live in most of us don’t actually enjoy being unreliable, and for me at least sometimes preventing reliability from becoming an issue is better than trying to run with it and getting myself into a bind with “not letting people down” at the expense of my health.

Of course this means you miss out on things, and nobody said that was ever going to be easy. However were you completely healthy you would still miss out on potential experiences. Pre-existing commitments could make you too busy, not everything is financially viable and we all have accidentally double-booked ourselves and no doubt will again. So whilst it’s a negative it isn’t one that’s solely to be laid at the feet of chronic illness and nowhere else.

Sometimes, life is just like that.

Other times, you just need to kick your illness in the face for *its* temerity and enjoy a good night out regardless of the consequences. This weekend was one of those times.

After all, Petunia’s seeming hatred of my music taste needs correcting just as soon as possible. Maximum exposure must therefore be the way forward.


Listening to all the Iron Maiden, and wishing you all many spoons xxx  

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