It seems to be a recurring theme, these melodramatic waking moments. This morning it was a cat playing the hokey pokey on my face and then I realised I was talking, well no, sternly giving someone a talking to. Apparently the protagonist in my dream was giving a dressing down to a rough looking Mexican man (one can only assume was inspired by the Weeds episode I watched last night) about attitude versus gratitude. I remember having the fleeting thought that this would be a good story, and thinking I’d remember it when I woke again, which I didn't.
Perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me something, because this day is pregnant with attitude. I could easily beat an angsty teenager in the midst of a hormonal shit-storm with my attitude today.
See things are a little better here, a little worse there. The supplements have kicked in and now instead of pausing at every second step to travel the stairs, I can manage only two or three pit-stops. But this week has also delivered sinus torture, locked jaw, migraine style headaches, constant nausea and asthma. And delightfully, the supplements have lifted the veil of fog that was stopping me from clearly seeing this world. Stripping away any delusions I had about just how bad things are.
Every time this happens, I’m reckoning around twice or three times a year, I marvel and baffle at the ridiculousness of it all. Surely I should be grateful for feeling a little better? But see it’s not a big enough improvement to have any impact other than requiring more self control to stop myself attempting things. I am not well enough to function, but well enough to see clearly what I would do if I could function.
It’s like a constant mind – fluff. I know I should have gratitude, but all I can muster is attitude.