While this recovery might generously be said to be inching along, the plateau on which things seem mired seems endless. The horizon is surely there, but it’s hard to see some days. It’s a big plateau. The phrase that keeps running through my head is an old one: my get up and go has got up and went. While I appear completely myself in public (not visibly impaired in any way, at least), the limits on what can be done in a day have markedly changed my life. For one thing, the drive that has distinguished most of my life seems totally, well mostly, absent. My projects are still moving ahead and I’m still getting things done, but not at any recognizable pace. And the only progress I ever make is when working at home: going out in the world runs the batteries down faster than can be imagined. So while I’m the same person, my life is completely different than anything ever experienced (or imagined) before. There are, of course, good aspects to it; it’s also deeply confusing though, since it doesn’t resemble any version of everyday life we’ve ever experienced.
Interestingly, in this phase, I’m either dreaming more or just more aware of it. My general level of frustration seems to be working itself out, over and over again, at night. The dreams are more vivid than they’ve been since surgery and sometimes are disturbing my sleep. It’s odd and disconcerting.
The vertigo set off on the weekend by some combination of overstimulation and illness has subsided and isn’t any longer as limiting as it was earlier in the week when I rearranged things to avoid having to stand up for a 2-hour session, exchanging it for one where I could sit down. The vertigo rarely causes actual falling down, but it’s unpleasant and interferes with clear thought.
Today has major energy calls, so this will stay short. My aunt wrote about the saving instinct, saying it’s hereditary and the comments here have been thought-provoking. More on that later and happy Friday to all.