The thing that angers me most about the current wave of medical stressors is that in mid-September I felt as though my life was opening up again and now I feel it's slammed shut hard. The levels of pain and fatigue I am dealing with are beyond even my chronically ill norm. They are debilitating and I feel they must look unbelievable from the outside, as though I am narcissistically self-dramatizing or merely careless with my health—I got told again last night that I look great, which is of no use to me. This has been the kind of week where just making it to doctors' appointments leaves me wiped out for the rest of the day. I am actively worried about my ability to manage an out-of-town wedding this weekend. My work is suffering and I can't afford for it to. I can't stop moving.
It feels like this is all there is left of my life: the person who is uselessly sick and gets sicker. Everything else has to happen around the edges, wedged into the cracks. The most important thing about me is the medical shape I'm in. I don't like it. It is not how I think of myself. It is not how I want to be seen.
I managed to attend the book launch at the BPL for The Atlas of Boston History (2019).![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
a_reasonable_man was one of the contributors; one of his collaborative plates was even used as an illustration of the process of putting the atlas together by editor Nancy S. Seasholes, who gave a lecture beforehand. I can't believe I didn't know about her seminal study Gaining Ground: A History of Landmaking in Boston (2003/2018) until last night; I just went around picking up information about this city of water we live in on my own time. I will want a copy. I will want a copy of the atlas, too, which is beautiful and sold out at its own launch party. Then I came home and worked until I literally fell asleep on the couch. spatch had to wake me to go to bed.
Tonight is my family's traditional Halloween party, now an institution of more than half a century's standing. There will be pumpkins.
It feels like this is all there is left of my life: the person who is uselessly sick and gets sicker. Everything else has to happen around the edges, wedged into the cracks. The most important thing about me is the medical shape I'm in. I don't like it. It is not how I think of myself. It is not how I want to be seen.
I managed to attend the book launch at the BPL for The Atlas of Boston History (2019).
a_reasonable_man was one of the contributors; one of his collaborative plates was even used as an illustration of the process of putting the atlas together by editor Nancy S. Seasholes, who gave a lecture beforehand. I can't believe I didn't know about her seminal study Gaining Ground: A History of Landmaking in Boston (2003/2018) until last night; I just went around picking up information about this city of water we live in on my own time. I will want a copy. I will want a copy of the atlas, too, which is beautiful and sold out at its own launch party. Then I came home and worked until I literally fell asleep on the couch. spatch had to wake me to go to bed.Tonight is my family's traditional Halloween party, now an institution of more than half a century's standing. There will be pumpkins.
