I could write so much about my weekend, which was spent mostly outdoors. Yesterday on Porthcothan Beach in Cornwall (didn’t even make it to paddle in the sea, it was a loooong way off) and today at a Mary Budding Trust charity country manor walk. But I’m so tired, from the relentless pain that only increases by doing things I love, that I threw up this evening waiting for dinner.
Now I am in bed waaaaay past my bedtime, hurting too much to sleep, and too tired to write; needing more painkillers but with no energy to get back up to fetch them, or to locate my mobile phone – that I had thrown somewhere on the end of the bed some other time when i had no energy to put it on my bedside table – to call R and ask if he can get some for me. It’s is why I have abandoned this blog for so long; I just cannot get as far as opening it let alone posting the million thoughts that race through my brain, waking me at 4am.
That’s what chronic pain does; it wipes my energy levels so that there’s nothing left. Everything I do has to be planned. And everything I do has payback, physically and mentally. As I write this, I’m happy that I have managed to have an active weekend, with the enormous help from close friends and R to enable me to do so, and worried about the consequences of having a life this weekend affecting my week at work.
My eyes are drooping. My head hurts. I am going to make that call to R so that might actually get some sleep…