Ask Lucy.

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.

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When blessings pour in.

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:

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Where is she when you need her?

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.)

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Blessings are like stars.

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.


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Good grief.

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.


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FIBRO TIP: Don't Do This.

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.

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.