Morning pages - that's the latest suggestion.  3 whole pages per morning?  Not sure I'm capable of that.  It's easier, tying than writing, as holding a pen can become very painful, and ultimately impossible, for me. Is it the Fibromyalgia, or is it the arthritis that causes finger pain?  Both or either, it would seem, is enough to make me drop the pen and cry.  This too, is painful, as the impact of fingertip hitting computer key sends shock waves through my bones, into my hands and up my arms.  It's all rather pathetic, really.  Me, who once carried a 2 seater sofa up a flight of stairs - alone.  Me, who has moved white goods, (fridges, freezers, cookers, etc.,) in and out of buildings, up and down flights of stairs and through narrow passageways.  I've always been one of the strongest people I know, physically, emotionally, (I've squashed some powerful reactions down inside myself over the years), and even mentally, (enabling myself to deal with a neurotypical world), trying to handle everything in a 'normal' fashion.  None of that seems to remain, though.  Yes, I force myself to get up and out of bed every morning, even though I really don't want to, but an impatient bladder helps with that.  Once downstairs though, still in pyjamas and dressing gown, I take up my spot on the sofa, under a single duvet, (for warmth as well as comfort, as this is a very cold house), and plan how to use the limited amount of energy I have left for the tasks of the day.  I can see quite clearly that the lounge needs to be cleared of clutter and tidied, vacuumed and polished.  That's all very unlikely to happen.  If I've enough, I might manage to clear the area by the fireplace, burning the rubbish accumulated there by moving it into the fireplace itself or the bin next to it.  It's not really a bin, it's a coal bucket, but that's a whole other collect and move thing, involving going from one room to another.  The mirror needs dusting and cleaning, as the sticky soot from the fire enables the dust to cling more tenaciously to everything.  Laundry, which I've managed to put through the washing machine, and maybe even dried on the radiators during a rare 'let's have the heating on' coupe of hours, may get folded immediately or left languishing on the other sofa, may or may not get sorted and taken to various bedrooms.  The floor needs to be vacuumed, but my daughter cannot do that for me as it hurts her ears.  She's a sensitive wee soul, even with noise cancelling headphones on, bless her.  But I digress.  That's all I can see from where I sit on the daily, not including the windows that need to be cleaned, all the bits of clutter and stuff that should be put away, (heaven knows where though, we have so much stuff!).  There's also the kitchen, the dishes, the floors, the extra things in there that shouldn't be, the pikes of recycling and compost stuff, (now we have smaller bins out there, (to take up less space), they just end up overflowing as they're too small and they're not getting emptied as often, the 'fridge which always seems to have something festering horribly in there.  Then there's the dining room, the general dumping ground as it's just a wide corridor really.  The dining table groans under a load of all-sorts, and hasn't been used as a table for absolutely months.  Another table in the corner has all of my shop-stock on top of it - how it doesn't collapse under the weight amazes me, but then the underneath of that particular table is stuffed solid with fabrics and clothes just waiting to be dyed. Every available other surface is covered with plants, and a wall unit heaves with games and puzzles wedged into the entire area it inhabits.  We won't mention much about the bathroom and lavatory - they have their own collections of bottles, boxes and bags of cat litter, shampoo and toiletries to contend with, and that's just the ground floor.  There are 2 upper rooms used as bedrooms.  The largest bedroom has been converted into a studio, where both my daughter and I can do our painting and sewing, etc.,, (must remember to give Yas, my neighbour, all the wool I have and won't be using, as my knitting fad is well and truly over, due to finger and wrist pain), but that too is overflowing with art supplies.  My bedroom, part dump/small part sleeping quarters, is in need of a serious clear-out of old stereo equipment, bedding and clothes, not helped by the fact that the airing cupboard is in there, so all the bedding gets stacked up in there, looking for somewhere to be put.  The top floor is where my daughter has her bedroom, not as bad as the rest of the house as she does her best to keep it clear, but she has inherited my hoarding instinct, as she finds it hard to let stuff go too.  We have a loft up there too, as I opened up a wall to discover as space 17ft x 6ft, with a sloping ceiling.  Not quite a room, but almost, so good enough for storage(!).  Needless to say, that's completely filled with bags and boxes of things we cannot possibly throw away too.  Even the staircases have their own collection of things on them, on their way up the stairs to various rooms. There's a small cupboard halfway up the stairs too, cut into the wall and used for Christmas decorations and gift storage, that too is overloaded.  That's just the house.  There's a garden that needs a lot of work doing to it, which won't be done now as it's Autumn, and there are no doubt lots of creatures over-wintering in the heaps of leaves and sticks.  The she, well that's a whole new nightmare.  Used to store all the boxes of stuff once stored in the understairs cupboard in the dining room, it's impossible to even enter properly.  So much stuff pushed in there, and recently used by a geriatric and incontinent cat, everything is covered in a layer of cat piss and poop, I'm ignoring it until the Spring when hopefully most of it will be dried enough to just sweep out of there.  That'll be done wearing a hazmat suit and mask, possible even goggles too.  

Daylight is appearing through the curtains now, (I've been out of bed sine about 6am), and my coffee has gone cold.  Today so far, I've spent half an hour on the loo, with what feels like a mild tummy upset.  I can feel discomfort in my guts as I sit here, typing.  My shoulders and neck are sore and stiff, and my blasted skin cancer, (in my tear duct!!!), stings and itches like mad.  Anywhere that my skin touches anything else it aches, and feels slightly grazed, my bones ache inside me, and my joints feel swollen and sore. My arms and hands are complaining about being moved, and they will throb for hours after I stop typing. Even my ankles are painful, because I've walked about some today.   I had counselling yesterday, talking to Sharon really helps, because, would you believe, I can get quite depressed about all of this.  2Rest up and heal", people say to me.  How?  It helps to recharge my batteries, I believe, but the mental strength needed to adjust every movement to incorporate my waning abilities takes it's own toll.  I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired, and when I DO get a 'good' day, with a little energy or clear-headedness, I almost always, without exception, go too far trying to catch up with everything that needs doing, setting myself right back down again to quivering mass in the corner.  I try to keep any energy I do have for the weekends - mainly Saturdays, so I can do my market stall and try to sell some of the tie-dyes I produce when I am able, and now Thursdays too for a couple of weeks, showing special needs children, (which I'd have been classified as if girls as well as white boys, had been assessed for ADHD/Autism all those years ago), how to tie-dye the way I do it.  I may be asked to do Fridays too, at the Knibb centre where such activities help to prepare said children for assisted, and then sole, living.  Sundays are usually written off, as I do my best to recoup my energy for the coming week.  Didn't do that this week, as Granny needed a visit.  Not my Granny, but my youngest daughter's.  Doreen is lovely, and we get on well, which is why I visit her.  I've not been for a few weeks, being under the weather myself.

It's been a crap year, really, starting with my dear friend Tony, who collapsed on Christmas morning last year, spent a week or so in hospital, then died on 3rd January 2023, dealing with his estranged widow was a feckin' nightmare, but we got over that.  My little Tom cat, TomTom Tigerpuss, was ill during the Summer, finally being hit with a saddle thrombus, (a blood clot on the spine), in the early hours of 21st September and needing to be euthanised due to the agony and non-existent possibility of recovery, my neighbour Dilwyn, who we discovered at the bottom of his stairs, his skull smashed open after falling down said stairs we believe, after a second stroke hit him.  I'd thrown myself through an upper window after fetching my stepladder to his house, doing the splits as I fell down on the inside of said window.  To be 2 days too late was heartbreaking, but it was obvious he was gone when I touched him to rouse him before rushing to open the door for the paramedics.  Just last week, on my daughter's 20th birthday, we learned that one of my brothers, David, has bowel cancer, and little shed cat, he of the befoulment of said shed, was captured, (by me, in a cat trap), was taken to the vets for treatment and diagnosis.  I'd found a permanent home for him, (or so I thought), but when it came to it, the woman who said she'd take him didn't respond to my frantic messages and 'phone calls.  Little Bear, as that was his nickname, had FIV, was geriatric and had a large mass in his abdomen, as well as a large, rotting growth on his side, was put to sleep, instead of getting even a few months warmth and comfort before losing his life.  

It's hard to keep upbeat sometimes, and I know there are folks way, way worse off than am I, but it's  still difficult.  I wish everyone a splendid day, and am hoping this nauseated feeling will leave me soon.