Foghorn

Fresh berries

2010-07-10T17:39:00.000-07:00

I need a change.

Well, that was an experiment gone awry!

2010-03-17T18:36:00.000-07:00

Good heavens -- two days of isometrics and I could hardly walk!

I'm hardly going to start over now. In another whirlwind decision, I'm moving to Missouri next week to live near my mother. Plans are made, packing is underway, and I'm actually starting to look forward to the beautiful drive. Up to California, east through Yuma, north to Flagstaff, and turn right.

Missouri is not new to me, but it's not home, either. I've never had a home. I'm a Navy brat with no ties to anywhere. This move is a magnificent adventure, bittersweet and profound. One thing is certain: I thank God that, at this difficult crossroads I've arrived at in my life, I have the opportunity to take care of my Mom. Not everyone does.

Hours and hours of phoning ahead (and many, many prayers) have reaped tons of blessings, including warm people and helping hands. I've got a house waiting for me that sounds pretty perfect and all the telephone numbers I could ever want.

Relocating with fibro is not exactly a day at the beach. I've done it a thousand times before and, truth be told, this is one of the smoothest. I've been given the strength to do the work and minimum pain at night. Oh yes, and a relatively clear head! As long as I stay off the isometrics, that is.

I've been explaining this monumental change to Lucy, in between boxes and phone calls, but she doesn't seem impressed. She will be, though, when I settle her on the passenger seat next Saturday in her spacious first-class crate!

Until then, it's me at work and MacKitty at rest.

I'd like to exercise, but I don't have the equipment.

2010-02-19T13:47:00.000-08:00

Meet Alexander Zass, the Amazing Samson, once billed as "the toughest man in the world" and known for doing isometrics and lifting small horses.

So I started doing isometric exercises today. Not directly because of Mr. Zass, although I have to say this is a pretty impressive display, but because I'm sick and tired of feeling like a pile of poo.

I know that not all of us can exercise, or even stretch, and those of us who can can't necessarily do it every day. But me, I've always liked isometrics.

My Dad turned me on to them when I was a fat kid in high school, oh so very long ago. Keeping his hopes to himself, he handed me a dog-earred paperback put out by the Canadian Air Force, and I actually did the exercises for three days in a row, after which I happened to have an appointment with my regular weight doctor. In the course of checking me for something else, the good doctor pushed down lightly on my tummy.

"Have you been exercising?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, turning bright pink.

""Good job!"

You'd think this sort of praise would inspire a kid to keep on with it. Not me. I was mortified that he might think I was aspiring to be fit and promptly ceased all physical movement. Anyway, I always secretly suspected my mother of giving him a heads up.

Pubescent mortification notwithstanding, I poked around on the Internet this morning and found a nice, short, VERY normal-looking demonstration of isometric exercises that can be done anywhere and (from the looks of it) by anyone.

If you're not isometrically inclined, here's another idea. Some years ago, when I was first diagnosed with fibro, I found a book called Soft and Easy Exercise For Everyone by Judy Palmquist and Mary Kay Bennett. This is a friendly little homemade job, put together by a couple of real-life women in Helena, Montana, and specifying "Fibromyalgia" in its short-list of targeted aims on the cover.

I'm sorry to say that this book doesn't seem to be available online anymore (but glad to say that my beat-up old copy's worth $45 at Amazon!). If you're interested in a copy of your own, let me know and I'll send you the contact information.

Of course, you can find all of the exercise in this book by combing through other fitness resources and putting together a custom routine for yourself. But this particular book is the product of a small fitness center that focuses on women and fibromyalgia, and it presents easy exercises in an accessible way that appeals to me.

This is what I like. Easy. Because if they're not easy, I won't do them. That's what I like about isometrics. That, and the things you can do if you practice every day:

Wake up, Durga, wake up...oooOOooo

2010-02-17T10:27:00.000-08:00

I think the person in this picture is dead. But I'm not, and I have to remember that.

Okay, first things first. This may be unbelievable to anyone who doesn't walk around in a constant haze, but just last night I realized that, about a month ago, two lovely people wrote me blog comments on the death of Willy and the birth of Lucy. Please forgive me, loyal readers, and thank you for being there. I couldn't see you through the fog!

It's a funny thing about blogs. You write for whatever reason, and you never really know who, if anyone, is reading your words. You just do it because...oh, who knows? For me, it's sheer delight bordering on compulsion. I love it.

So you know I've been out of it when I'm silent for so long.

On my other blog, I made it clear that I'm in the middle of rewrites for my novel. In fibro terms, this means less actual writing and more wandering around, bumping into things inside my foggy head. It's the old Grope-and-Hope Method of writing.

Today I came out to my favorite cafe, hoping to attract some practical work energy, and looky here -- I'm writing a blog entry. It's like magic. The only thing I don't like about this cafe is the music. The guy who seems to live behind the counter is a classical Spanish guitar student at the university here in Baja. You'd never know it. Björk appears to be the musak of choice. Yikes. I keep meaning to bring my earphones, but guess what: I forgot them again.

I may be starting to wake up from this latest bout of fatigue. I better be, if I want to get anything done besides crocheting little hurricanes for my El Niño blanket. Pictures to come.

Well, now that I'm sitting up, it's time to get back to work. If you're still reading, thank you for being here. You've helped raise me from the dead.

By the way, if you're wondering how Lucy's doing, the answer is she's full of beans, as always. I'll let her know you asked.

Ask Lucy.

2010-01-28T11:32:00.000-08:00

Ah yes. Isn't fibro beautiful? Actually, I'd love to be able to get into this position, but I probably wouldn't get out again.

Another gorgeous sunshiney morning. More rain has been predicted for days, but God keeps foiling the weathermen. It was supposed to pour yesterday, and I've been braced. But don't we just know that bracing ourselves for dreaded events is almost worse for our fibro than the events themselves?

So, ever the optimist-in-training, I drove into town, just because I could.

And since were no showers after all, what a relaxing morning it was! Cappuccino at my cybercafé and good progress on my essay contest submission (deadline moved to this Sunday). Nevertheless, it wore me out and today I'm lounging around in my peach negligée, waiting for a photo op.

Exhaustion and fog. These are the hardest parts of fibro for me. The best remedy I've found (when I don't have to work and I'm too stubborn to nap) is just to do something I love. So I write, or weave, or crochet. I'm still tired, I still can't remember what I just did, but it renders me basically harmless and sometimes I even get something done.

Today, I'm going to write. I have an essay to finish and some similar writing things to do. Later this evening, I'll watch the first hours of 24 I've recorded and work on my El Niño blanket , crocheting little hurricanes and giving thanks for being dry.

And that's the easiest part of fibro for me. Boy, do I love to have an excuse to take it easy! How silly is that?

FIBRO-TIP: Don't wait for an excuse to take it easy. Just take it.

Anyway, that's what Lucy says.

What to do when it rains.

2010-01-23T14:45:00.000-08:00

The sun is electrifying northern Baja this morning, but I am not fooled.

Rainstorms pounded us the entire week. Wednesday night I astounded myself by mopping and wringing out towels for fourteen hours straight, overnight, with no sleep -- and part of that time by candlelight. Over the course of three days, I closed my eyes for maybe four hours. I lived in my sweats and pulled a blanket over my weary body in those rare moments when I could leave that one stubborn leak alone for more than five minutes. My hands are blistered from squeezing wet towels and I'm still so tired my head is buzzing.

Then last night, the storms began to abate. I actually slept for six hours last night, urged out of bed at 7 a.m. by a hungry kitten.

Today, the sun is pouring in, not the rain, and it should hold for a few days at least. I'm hopeful, but weather reports are mixed. I'm doing my best to devote the day to resting and recovering, despite the three-man crew jackhammering and drilling immediately outside my window. They're building walls and digging ditches in an attempt to divert the water from my house.

These annoying sounds are comforting because I know they may be successful. But my body and mind are exhausted, and I can hardly imagine what I'll do if they fail.

My physical exertion of this last week falls into the "Did I Really Do That?" category. If you had told me two weeks ago that I would have the fortitude to do what I did, I would not have believed you. Although this was one of the hardest weeks of my life, it showed me yet again that when I think I have no more stamina, the only thing to do is pray, because that's the only thing that will work.

But hey, the sun is shining. And, by the way, some of us actually don't mind if the floor is wet and our houses are a little cockeyed:

Anyway, here's one more thing you can do when it rains. Click here and scroll down to the little wheels. Ever industrious, that's me. And Lucy.

When blessings pour in.

2010-01-19T10:58:00.000-08:00

This is not a picture of Mexico, but it could be. Rain poured down on us last night and more is expected for the next ten days, with a brief respite over the weekend.

Rain poured into my house last night, as well. In fact, last night my house looked very much like the entire rain-soaked week after Thanksgiving, when I first learned that I was living in a sieve. Towels, mops, buckets, plastic tarps...Well, this is a converted garage, after all. Every time one leak got plugged, another popped up. It was like living in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

I dozed on and off until after midnight, getting up every half-hour to check the floor with a flashlight. The rain seems to have abated after that -- or maybe it was the patch job -- and I finally got some sleep.

This morning, the living room looked like a Mexican thrift shop. Rocker on top of easy chair, kitty tree on table, and everything (especially tapestry loom!) shoved as far from the water as possible. But a dry floor, and I thank the Lord for that.

Fibro just loves it when you mop and wring and stack furniture for hours long after your bedtime. Whatever measly adrenaline I had on store I used up last night. Now the pain is setting in. So here I am, in the rocker (which is back on the floor), enjoying a frumpy sweater day, taking my work very, very slowly, and hoping I'm ready for the rain that's sure to come again tonight. No self-recrimination or fear of the future, just listening to my body and knowing that everything will get done in God's own time.

FIBRO-TIP: Don't live in a leaky house. Oh yes, and thank heavens for small blessings:

It was the darnedest thing.

2010-01-15T11:26:00.000-08:00

It's funny how death can turn your life upside down. On Thursday, January 7th, my beloved 12-year-old cat Willy was put out of his misery. Want to start up a flare? There's an idea.

For days beforehand, I did my share of crying, and a bit more. Willy had been the most constant earthly thread in my life since 1997. Big, black King Willy. He was my friend and my comfort, and a very good boy.

Next morning, I went into town for my weekly date with myself at the cybercafé. After coffee and a bit of half-hearted work, I stopped by the vet to thank him again for the kind help he had given the night before, driving all the way out to my house so Willy could die at home. Dr. Jose was out visiting a sick dog, so with the ten minutes I had to wait I wandered around the dismal pet store that always seems to be attached to a Mexican veterinary practice.

Mexican pet stores are heartbreaking affairs. Piles of cages filled with discarded animals line the walls. These are the lucky ones, because kind people feed them, but it's not a sight for the fainthearted. Normally, I avoid these stores like the plague, but my heart was broken. I idly scanned the wall to see who I could pet, for both our sakes.

My eyes roamed past countless chickens and rabbits and a lump of sleeping puppies to a little black hair ball all alone in a cage. I couldn't see a head so I gently poked.

"It's dead," I said to the clerk.

"No, no," he said, and handed me this:

Meet Lucy. She walked into my house on January 8th and took over my life. She fits in a teacup, sleeps on my head, and isn't afraid of anything.

When God has plans for you, there's really no way out. I knew He wanted me to move on. I asked only that it be black and lovable.

It was the darnedest thing.

Happy New Year, Everyone !!!

2009-12-31T16:38:00.000-08:00

A very Happy New Year to you all!

Set gentle goals with lots of relaxing time.

Take naps and feel good about it.

Know that God has His hand on you and all is well.

See you next year--which is right around the corner!

Durga

Weaving a mind of peace.

2009-12-29T22:09:00.000-08:00

I love the week between Christmas and New Year. I can forgive myself for getting nothing done, and then be surprised by actual accomplishments.

There's a peace about this time. Of course, I don't have hordes of children to tend---just my own unruly mind, which I decided to keep busy this week by erecting my tapestry loom and thinking about my first project. My body is cooperating, and for this I'm grateful.

But my spirit's been low and my emotions volatile. Immersion in projects I love is always a good cure. Weaving is wonderful for this. It's grounding and centering and engrossing all at once. It keeps my mind thinking positively about the next steps, reaching for solutions, envisioning the final result.

This is how we create our lives every day. Like clockwork, our thoughts become reality.

I tend to be a wallower. Dredge it up and roll around in it, that's me. I wish I were naturally optimistic and forward-looking, tasting life and dashing on to the next wonderful unknown. But my mind is still in training, and until boot camp is over I like to keep it occupied with color and beauty and interesting, fiddly things to do. It increases the chance that the life I create will be colorful, beautiful, and interesting...if a bit fiddly.

So the loom is up and ready to go, complete with obligatory cat (that's Willy) napping in the corner.

My little living room is now a weaving studio with two chairs and a TV. Nice.

In my peaceful corner of the world, I thank God for this quiet week between the holidays. When January comes, I'll revise my novel and trawl for work once again. But for the next few days, I can drape my living room with color and my mind with something other than my own complaints.

God bless you on this Holy Night!

2009-12-24T17:47:00.000-08:00

May the light of Christ and the will of God illuminate your life.

I wish you peace, love, and joy,

today and always.

Please take care of yourself this holiday season.

Rest as easy as you possibly can.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!

It's amazing what one can do.

2009-12-22T11:59:00.000-08:00

The rain is pouring down. It's gray as far as the eye can see. But I've made my cottage a cozy little nest. I feel positively Dickensian.

Sick of my own sad-sack attitude lately, I went out before breakfast today, dodging raindrops, and carried my tapestry loom in pieces from the weaving shed to the living room. Don't ask how I made room for it.

This gray weather has my creativity gushing. I'm a winter lover who struggles in the balmy climate of Baja. Still, it's probably best not to have too much gushing at once. My greatest downfall is to try to enact everything that flies into my mind.

Believe it or not, fibro has been a helpful friend in this regard. Among other things, it's taught me the value of limitations. One...all right, maybe two or three...projects at a time, but no more than that. I get more done, have a better chance of actually finishing something, and avoid total collapse.

As New Year approaches, however, I can't help but think about resolutions. I don't write them---I've disappointed myself too many times. I'd rather add up what I've accomplished at the end of the year and call them fulfilled resolutions. It makes me feel much better.

But every year, like clockwork, a new theme presents itself of its own accord. This last year's theme turned out to be hopes and dreams: what I wanted for myself and what would get me up in the morning. This, it turns out, is still a work in progress. Yet now there are rumblings from the deep, and they're even more colorful than last year's. I sense an increasingly creative time ahead, and I'm excited.

After this last series of difficult flares, I'm embarking on my new journey with care. Yes, it's true, I hauled my loom cross-country this morning. But now that it's here, it will assemble itself piece by piece, and I can---finally---get back to work.

As the rain rages outside, I'm snuggling down in my bastion of warmth and tea. I may need to take my creative journey a step at a time, but soon there will be projects that get me up in the morning.

I'm ready to amaze myself again.

May all your popcorn disappear.

2009-12-19T12:34:00.000-08:00

Thirty-four years ago, my one-year-old son and I were alone for a Christmas on welfare. I had no gifts to give, no friends to be with, and a five-dollar bill in my pocket. I drove aimlessly through the streets of the city on Christmas Eve, face wet with tears, baby gooing and gurgling in his car seat.

I thank God I had the presence of mind to pray behind the wheel. And somehow, through my self-pity, came the realization that I did indeed have $5 in my pocket and my baby in his seat. I did have a family, and we were all together.

I took my $5 and headed for a Christmas tree lot, where I bought a pretty mangy-looking tree, and then to a grocery store, where I spent the rest of my money on a bag of cranberries.

Back home, I stood the tree in a corner and started making popcorn-cranberry strands and paper-loop garlands with a happy, drooling one-year-old. I'll never forget how puzzled I was that the strands were disappearing before my eyes until I realized that my son, sitting at my feet, was eating the popcorn as fast as I was stringing it. Alone in the apartment, I laughed with him till my sides hurt.

I don't remember anything else about that Christmas. I have no recollection of Christmas Day or contact with my parents on the other side of the country, or what we ate for Christmas dinner. But I will never forget the revelation of who my family was, and how quickly a toddler can devour popcorn.

This Christmas, my body aches and I'm short on cash. But as I just wrote to to a friend, the birth of Christ is in our hearts, not under the tree. It's always possible to make Christmas out of the things around us because, in fact, they are God's gifts to us.

Here's wishing you a blessed (and relaxing) time as you get ready for the upcoming holy day. May all your preparations be filled with joy and inspired by the light of Christ!

.

Of hope chests and moonlight.

2009-12-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

This is me: shaking my fist at the rock that hides the moon.

Among the too many things I try to do in my life is weaving---and I'm going somewhere with this, so please bear with me. I have floor looms I'm constantly trying to work on and dozens of projects aswirl in my head, most of which never materialize. I'm also on a weaving chat list, and today a fellow weaver said something that crept into my heart like a ray of moonlight.

She'd just finished weaving a set of towels for her teenaged daughter to put in a hope chest. When she told us this, she remarked that she didn't know if people had hope chests anymore, but there it was, the towels were for a hope chest.

Apart from my mother, I personally don't know anyone who has a hope chest, or who ever had one. Of course, when I was of hope-chest age, I was traveling in rebellious circles that rejected anything of real value, so I'm not the best judge. Still, I think she's right. A hope chest is an old-fashioned tradition. A beautiful one, though. And, I'm thinking, a helpful one.

I'm emerging from a difficult few weeks. I won't bore you with the details, but I'm only now starting to think about the sunnier things of life. To be honest, I've rather lost a sense of myself over the whole last two years. I've been spending a lot of time shaking my fist at rocks.

A hope chest suddenly feels like a loving, comforting thing to do for myself. I've had enough of rocks. How about some moonlight, soft and easy on the heart?

So I'm starting one. Not for marriage, but for life. I can fill it over time with carefully chosen, beautiful items to remind me that I do have dreams, I do have hope, and there are things to live for.

And the first thing that's going in my chest is a note to myself: Take a step to the side, dear, because the moon is just behind the rocks.

.

Where is she when you need her?

2009-11-22T10:42:00.000-08:00

I haven't been feeling very well this week. And I wouldn't start a blog on any other topic with that remark.

I'm thinking of petitioning to have the acronym for fibro changed from FMS to HBATS (that would be Hit-By-A-Truck Syndrome, for you uninitiated). Next to being a walking hit-and-run, I'm a busted thermometer. On with the sweater, off with the sweater, freeze, sweat, freeze again. I contradict myself with everything I say, and this is so typical for me that half the time I don't know I'm not feeling well until I bite someone's head off and then burst into tears.

This is ridiculous behavior. Where's that Fibro Fairy when you need her? You know, the one who waves her wand and makes it all better?

I've come to believe that there are tricks to living with chronic malfunction. Unfortunately, fairy dust isn't one of them. For me, it has to do with making every single moment the best it can be.

I remember when I discovered this secret almost 30 years ago. I was living outside the city limits, in the middle of a field surrounded by hills and lit by stars. Wherever I got the idea, I don't know, but I found myself asking at every opportunity, "What can I do to make this moment even better?" Sometimes it required a complete attitude overhaul and sometimes it was easy as a cup of tea.

The whole thing must have worked, though, because one night a star shot across that big black sky and I couldn't think of a single thing to wish for.

Many years have passed since then and I'm not quite as good at asking as I used to be. But when I do ask, as I'm doing today, I find that it keeps me from hiding. It gives me hope that the moment CAN be made better.

I'm more likely to open the blinds (which I just did) instead of sitting in the dark, or to do someone a kindness instead of shutting out humanity. Or to write a blog post instead of going to bed.

FIBRO TIP: First, give thanks that the moment is as good as it is, because it can always be worse. Then take a long, hot, scented soak. Put on some real clothes. Let the sun fall on your face. Brush the dog hair off the couch. Smile at the mailman.

(And if you run into the Fibro Fairy, send her on over.)

Blessings are like stars.

2009-11-17T10:06:00.000-08:00

This is what I wanted to be doing last night, cowboy boots and all. There was a meteor shower and I missed it. If any of you got up in the wee hours of the morning to see it, I applaud you.

Me? I chose warmth and sleep over the chilly excitement of falling stars. This isn't like me. When I was younger, I lived in my van, and then in my bus. Once, I lived in the redwoods, in a cabin made of two cargo crates pushed together and outfitted with a garden hose for water. I've relocated across the Atlantic more times than I can count and I've been to more countries than I have fingers.

And last night, I wouldn't get out of bed to see a meteor shower.

Well, maybe it's age and maybe it's fibro. Maybe it's both. In any case, the body needs what it needs, and I'm learning to listen without judgment. There are smaller pleasures in front of my nose to be content with in those times when the stars seem out of reach.

My cat was warming my feet when I woke this morning. Now, I'm sitting in my favorite cybercafe, where the coffee is good and the WIFI works. A squirrel ran across the road as I drove to town and made me smile. In the car, XM played my favorite music. The sun is shining and it's crisp and fresh here in Ensenada. And the DMV deigned to send me my license plates today. Hey! All in all, not a bad morning!

I missed counting the stars last night, falling and otherwise. But here's another FIBRO TIP: Count your blessings. God is on His throne and all is well.

.

Good grief.

2009-11-16T20:01:00.000-08:00

I just read that, on average, children laugh 146 times a day. Adults laugh four times. FOUR times. Good grief!

No wonder we're sick.

I'm pretty much on the other side of this latest flare. Still, when I look in the mirror, I see my grandmother, who would be just about 100 if she were alive. I have no idea if what I'm seeing in the mirror is what others are seeing. All the same, I smile at the apparition and hope it helps.

Fibromyalgia will take your sense of humor and stomp it to death if you let it. I've always loved to laugh. But stick me in the middle of a flare and I'm nasty as winter on the steppes.

How do you keep smiling when it hurts so bad? You just do. There's always something to smile about. Under the waves, in the middle of pain, everywhere. I write in part to remind myself of this, because I'm the first one to forget.

One thing I know for sure: Smiling through the fog is like driving with your headlights on. You never know what you'll see.

FIBRO TIP: Smile.

.

They diagnose FMS, but they never tell you about FSS.

2009-11-13T19:52:00.000-08:00

Frumpy Sweater Syndrome is one of those fibro-associated conditions the doctors never tell you about.

Actually, my frumpy sweaters aren't nearly as natty as this lovely vintage model. Mine are big and baggy and I can really hide. As winter approaches, I'm very happy for them, even here, south of the border. And during a flare, I feel absolutely justified in pulling the collars up over my ears.

Today, as the pain subsides and the fog starts to roll back a bit, I look down and wonder what in the world I was thinking.

My mind knows it's important not to surrender (too much) to the frumpiness of fibro. But who cares about holding your stomach in when everything, including your stomach, hurts? FSS can really cloud one's fashion sense.

I'd like to have a collection of soft, smart-looking jammie-like things to wear around the house, but during a flare it hurts too much to go shopping, and afterward I've already forgotten whatever it was I'd been thinking about.

If all I lose during a flare is my fashion sense, I can't complain. Still, if anyone has any suggestions about how to spiff up painlessly, it can only help.

By the way, if you Google "ugly sweaters " you'll get 822,000 results. There are even Ugly Sweater Parties .

Hmmm...It's a thought...

.

FIBRO TIP: Don't Do This.

2009-11-10T14:31:00.000-08:00

That's not a fair tip. I knew you wouldn't anyway. But boy, sometimes I wish I could.

Once a week, when I can, I drive to my favorite cyber cafe and write. It's a great place to sit. Today, I got a lot done and had a brownie and now I'm home and spinning. Or rather, the fog is spinning around me. But it's okay. I don't have to work this afternoon and I've got something to read.

A colleague of mine, another fiction writer, sent out a call for influencers a few weeks ago. Influencers are people who read the advance copies of a book and then tell people about it. It's a nice form of unpaid publicity because it comes from the heart. And influencing for someone might encourage them to influence for me when my book finally comes out.

So today I'm in Florida. Not really, but I may as well be. After my strenuous morning, I'm taking a nice long break and reading the novel I'm an influencer for. I'm not quite ready to officially influence, seeing as I'm only on Chapter Two. But it's nice to have a "professional" reason to lie around and read. My body likes this job.

Until I'm ready to say something intelligent about the book, you might like to visit Sandie's blog and read what Andy Rooney has to say about women over 50 . Granted, this isn't specifically fibro-related, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who can appreciate it.

The book, by the way, is Love Finds You in Holiday, Florida. And this is fibro-related--sort of. Because today's entire FIBRO TIP should actually read: "Don't do this (see above). Lie down and read a book instead."

Hey, I swept the floor.

2009-11-09T12:11:00.000-08:00

You'd think it would take a certain amount of chutzpah (or idiocy) to start a blog in the middle of a fibro flare. Actually, it gives me a great excuse to sit here and stare at the screen.

Well, I did manage to get something done today, and that brings me to a new feature here on Foghorn...

FIBRO TIP: I learned a long time ago that writing To-Do lists is futile. A better idea is to wait until the end of the day, write down everything I actually did, and then cross each one off.

So here's my list: Sweep the floor. Huzzah!

A dear friend of mine wrote me recently about checking something out on Facebook and I had to admit that I'm not a member. I don't do Twitter, either. I don't think Twitter was created for folks like me. "8 a.m. Put on socks by lying on floor." "12:30 p.m. Dusted one shelf." I mean, what's the point?

This may change, of course, as I build my writing empire as a way to cope with not being part of the corporate world. However, I feel this is one of the benefits of having fibromyalgia. I'll never have to work on Wall Street.

To celebrate this fact, I joined Bukisa yesterday and posted my first article. Bukisa is a site where it's possible to make some money by writing what I love to write. If you've got something to get off your chest but just don't have the wherewithal to start a blog, you still might like to upload an article once in a while and pick up a few pennies.

If, like me, you're a creative soul who also has to work--somehow or other--you might enjoy the article I just posted there. I wrote 11 Tips For Surviving a Day Job With Your Creativity Intact a couple of years ago already, but the points it covers will probably never die. Fibro or not, day jobs aren't easy when you want to be doing something else.

Like sweeping the floor.

Fibro flair.

2009-11-07T20:17:00.000-08:00

Ironically (but probably not surprisingly), I've been sitting here for two days, staring through the fog at this picture and wondering what to write.

I like this picture. I'm sure I'll be sued any moment now for using it, but I can't recall the photographer and it's just too beautiful not to use. This image is my fibro fog on a good day, when the distance may be hazy but at least I can see what's up close.

The first post on a new blog is so important. Or we think it is. We feel we have to make a mission statement or some such thing, announce our existence to the world so it knows who we are and what we're about, and then stick to that purpose with steely intent until we just can't do it anymore and the whole thing implodes.

In my experience, blogs tend to morph over time into unexpected shapes. This one will, too.

I'll tell you what, though--everything I read about fibro on the Internet makes me want to bury myself alive, and my goal here is exactly the opposite.

I can handle the pain--not well, but I can--and I can handle the fatigue. But what really gets me is the fog. So this blog is dedicated to cutting through the fog of fibro and living life with some modicum of creativity and zest.

There are ways to live with love and light despite fibromyalgia, even when it affects our professional lives. I invite you to check in with The Artful Day-Jobber once in a while to see how I tiptoe around that particular landmine.

In the meantime, let's just keep smiling, every day, step by step , as we pick our way through the fog by the light from above.

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