Wednesday, August 17, 2016

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I am tired of just feeling bad, so I have turned that on its head. Parts of me that don't hurt and that behave normally: shoulders and arms and hands, thighs and knees down to mid-shin. If I think about it that way, it seems not so bad.

But I am unwell. I underwent cardioversion 3 weeks ago in an attempt to regulate my heart rhythm. It didn't work. Having atrial fibrillation is tiring and tiresome. I also have atrial flutter, for what that is worth. I have a slight fever due to a cold virus that is going around, so that means mucus and a stuffy head. My feet are becoming more numb due to neuropathy, which is scary. I fear that one day they will atrophy or become injured and need amputation. And my thinking is muddled and today my eyesight seems kinda blurry.

Then there's the depression. Am I depressed because I don't feel good? Nah. Sweetie says that my depression has a fine balance, a hair trigger. I work hard to keep it from tipping and that is tiring. It's difficult to avoid the people and situations that drag me down but I try. Right now, I am being very hermit-like for self-preservation.

Is this just what happens when we get older? I'll be 60 in a few months. But hey, 60 is the new 50, right? Not that long ago, a person 60 years old would be old indeed. Lucky to be alive! Just a few years left! It weighs heavily on my mind.

I'm knitting tiny socks. The really teensie ones, at 1.25", are for earrings. I've made some about 2" and don't quite know what they will be for. Right now, they are for keeping my hands busy.

I have tried knitting scarves. There was one that I knit on, garter stitch, for 2 weeks. I bound it off, hated it, and then unraveled. I tried knitting lace for 2 days until I forgot a yarn over and in the attempt to fix that, a bunch of stitches came off the needle. So fuck that and unravel. Tiny socks it is.

The chickens are fine and have started laying 4 eggs almost every day. I have clipped their wings and so they stay confined in the backyard, which is about 2000 square feet. Sweetie and I sit out there on the evenings that aren't oppressive and commune with them. I have named them Pork Chop, Bob, Pecker, and Dorothy. Pork Chop is the smartest and the most friendly and if I had the inclination, she could be trained to do tricks. But I don't.
That's Pork Chop there in the center.

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