Today I fell in a hole… that just happened to be on the couch.
Okay, so at lunch time I felt myself fading like a delicate flower wilting in the sun and Stripe (what I call my fatigue, you can read about him here) had his long knobbly fingers locked around my wrists dragging me kicking and screaming (well not really, I didn’t put up much of a fight) over towards my spot on the couch and a big hole opened up and swallowed me for the afternoon.
Stripe sat very pleased and contented with himself beside me chain smoking and looking all kinds of smug, coughing and spluttering playing a game of patience and cackling to himself that he had won again.
Almost sounds pornographic… eeew… image in head… moving right along…
Bloody holes… too many of them lurking around here for me to fall into.
Stripe pushed me into one on the freshly made bed the other day!
(Oh god… this has worse imagery than the first story)
There I was admiring the no wrinkle achievement of my patience and toil, giddy with the nostril pleasure that only sunshine line dried linen can give and next thing you know, with one pathetic nudge of his creepy pinkie, Stripe triumphed yet again. Hole filled!
He made a victorious ‘tick’ gesture in the air as he strutted away. (I reckon it was him who trashed the kitchen while I was sleeping you know.)
Sitting outside, a few days before that, my butt became wedged in a hole that opened up in my chair as I innocently sat appreciating the masses of blue spring star flowers begging for admiration.
Said hole was obviously strategically placed seconds before I propped by the conniving gremlin himself.
At least I had a cuppa in hand, shades on and a dowdy looking sunhat so I was unintentionally but surprisingly pleasantly prepared for that one.
No complete satisfaction for you with that hole Stripe.
One to me. Tick!
He was seen skulking away up the veranda exuding great gloom to where ever the hell his royal painfulness hides, no doubt to plot and scheme his next devious attempt for my demise.
These holes are a constant source of frustration. They are by no means as deep and difficult to crawl out of as they used to be but frustrating they remain to be.
Yesterday was a very productive day and maybe I over did it?
The trouble is while I am honouring my healing and listening to my body I also feel like I am wasting precious time… and once you have been faced with your own mortality time is certainly not something you like falling into the wasteland of unavoidable holes.
I’m doing my best to make peace with this frustration because I have realised it is truly the only real waste of my time.
A friend reminded me the other day that recovery from treatment is not a destination; just as happiness is not a destination!
I have to let time pass and engage with that time in whatever form it takes. Holes and all.
So when Stripe shows his ugly face I can really only do one of two things:
1). Punch him in the face and get on with it if I have too or feel feisty enough.
2). Listen to the sultry sound of his raspy voice and fall victim to his tedious plots of entrapment.
Most of the time lately it is the latter.
I just know I have fallen into the never ending circle of frustration, being tired about being tired!
What a vast waste of time that is!
My relationship with Stripe is far from over… and he knows it. But my relationship with ‘frustration’ is one I can manipulate given time and practise.
Time well spent me thinks.
Any holes lurking at your place?