My body is trying to tell me something. My shoulders are in knots. My fingers have developed more ulcers. I’m having trouble concentrating—or, rather, getting myself to the point of concentrating.
This morning, I woke from a dream that I couldn’t find a file in my computer, because the search function was screwed up. What was the file? Some essay I’d written that was titled “Megalomaniacs.” Which, as I write that word, includes an interesting interpolation of letters, which, if you’re following American politics, is pretty obvious.
Before I sat down at my computer to write this post on Monday afternoon, I took my walk around the neighborhood. This is always my immediate remedy for tension. The air was cool but pleasant. Mounds of brown leaves lined the streets, some with squashed pumpkins plopped on top. Most of the maples were bare, though a few pale golden leaves still clung to branches, their tint warmed by the honeyed glow of a sinking sun. An occasional car hummed by. Much of the way, I heard only the shuffle and crunch of leaves beneath my feet. No leaf blowers, thank goodness.
Most of my neighbors’ Halloween decorations had come down, but a few front steps still displayed harvest gourds. Other neighbors had been tidying their yards for winter. One who notably had choked a drive and detached garage with all kinds of stuff that only a hoarder could love had reduced their stash to just one small pile. Another had ripped ugly beige aluminum siding off much of their home to reveal moss green shingles. Even though they’re in need of replacement, the house already has a lot more character.
I passed other women, out for a stroll. We smiled and nodded to one another. Everything seemed normal, which was reassuring.
By the time I got back home, my shoulders had loosened a bit. I was breathing more deeply, always a plus. I’ve been carefully tending my new ulcers, and I was able to walk with my hands out of my pockets for part of my route, without discomfort from the cool air. My head was clearer.
Still, one encounter lingered—a brief chat with a neighbor who was sitting on her front lawn with her American flag, trying to figure out how to display it. “It just won’t hang right,” she said.
Indeed.
Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.
