No pleasure involved this time. This week I found myself thinking back to the last time my old nemesis Spike dropped in to see what condition my condition was in.
"Did I hear you call?" Sure enough, no sooner had I taken encouragement at the extended break... Last night a stubborn electical jolt/itch gradually ramped up over a two hour period, until the disguise was thrown off, and,
"Surprise! Didja miss me? Didja? Didja? You didn't? Awww yer just saying that." etc.
I know he hasn't spoken before. It's not that I'm suffering aural hallucinations, it's just a literary device, OK?
Anyways, a sleeper and a large brandy hardly seemed to make a dent on my consciousness, and after alternating between rolling around and shooting things (computer games) for a couple of hours, I ended up taking another half sleeper and squirming in bed until well past one thirty.
Looking back, it's all a bit hazy (hardly surprising). But it also makes me ponder a little on how deliberate amnesia seems to be a part of my toolbox.
When I'm on the up, I often give the "just got to get on with it" speech, the defiant voice, the half-full version. I sometimes find myself alone after, wondering if I've managed to fully convince myself yet.
Then I have a night like last night, and the full weight of my disability and all the pain and frustrations and feelings of helplessness crash over me. Thinking back on what was going through my head last night, it's all a bit sketchy. Maybe just as well.
The effect of such a visit is that Spike seems somehow to leave nothing in his wake, and I know that I now have a few low-pain days ahead of me.
The downside is that I also have to rebuild the platform of positive approaches on which I perch in order to keep myself somewhere nearing happy.
So, perhaps what's going on for the rest of the time is a healthy slice of denial? Hey, whatever gets you through the day...
"Did I hear you call?" Sure enough, no sooner had I taken encouragement at the extended break... Last night a stubborn electical jolt/itch gradually ramped up over a two hour period, until the disguise was thrown off, and,
"Surprise! Didja miss me? Didja? Didja? You didn't? Awww yer just saying that." etc.
I know he hasn't spoken before. It's not that I'm suffering aural hallucinations, it's just a literary device, OK?
Anyways, a sleeper and a large brandy hardly seemed to make a dent on my consciousness, and after alternating between rolling around and shooting things (computer games) for a couple of hours, I ended up taking another half sleeper and squirming in bed until well past one thirty.
Looking back, it's all a bit hazy (hardly surprising). But it also makes me ponder a little on how deliberate amnesia seems to be a part of my toolbox.
When I'm on the up, I often give the "just got to get on with it" speech, the defiant voice, the half-full version. I sometimes find myself alone after, wondering if I've managed to fully convince myself yet.
Then I have a night like last night, and the full weight of my disability and all the pain and frustrations and feelings of helplessness crash over me. Thinking back on what was going through my head last night, it's all a bit sketchy. Maybe just as well.
The effect of such a visit is that Spike seems somehow to leave nothing in his wake, and I know that I now have a few low-pain days ahead of me.
The downside is that I also have to rebuild the platform of positive approaches on which I perch in order to keep myself somewhere nearing happy.
So, perhaps what's going on for the rest of the time is a healthy slice of denial? Hey, whatever gets you through the day...
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