satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Oh, so it wasn't a cold, but the real, actual flu. Certainly it's hung on like the flu, and I've been exhausted enough to enter the lethargy Olympics, and take gold in the ooze-under-the-bar jump.
I'm a little better now. Coughing less, but today's hot north wind, and dry air has set off hayfever, because I'm snorking again. Sigh.
Anyway, I'm here, because doing this makes me feel like I'm contributing to the world, doing something, and not just lying on the couch, reading werewolf stories. I found a huge book at the op shop a few weeks ago: 'Werewolves and Shapeshifters'.
And as I write this, I look across the loungeroom floor, and there is my tiny white dog. He might be the wolf part of a baby werewolf forever stuck with the change because someone burnt his bunny rug. Or wolfie rug. I'm sure if I had my writers' hat on, instead of my invalid hat, I'd make something of that. I'll put it in the ideas folder, and none of you thousands of readers pinch it, okay?
My mind leapt straight to the shapeshifters in Mercedes Lackey's 'Children of the Night', and the Japanese vampires that exist merely on perfume. They must have had a hard time in some eras, if born into a peasant village, where everyone smelled of turnips. Or even a Japanese fishing village. They long for peonies, and get only fish-head odour.
Don't steal that idea either, readers.
Not much else has been going on of late, except an excess of flu in the house. PB, and TP both have it, the house is awash in eucalyptus oil, and tissues, and bottles of cough mixture. Hey, Japanese perfume vampires, do you like eucalyptus, tea tree, lavender, and clove?
We have mounds of camellias in bloom, but none of them have any scent. Not sure if it's an Aussie thing, or just our yard. They all look a bit wilty today in the warmth. Most of our camellias no sooner bloom than drop to the ground. What's the point, truly? If these strong winds keep up, our lawn will be covered with blooms tomorrow. And our compost bin is full, and awaiting complete decomposition before we can empty it and start again. I guess I'll just chuck the fallen flowers onto the garden and hope they decompose and add something to the soil.
The perfume vampires would be disappointed here at the moment. The daphne is past its yearly prime, the camellias have no scent, the rosemary flowers are all but spent, and nothing else has much perfume yet. I wish I had jasmine planted. No roses out yet, but I'm wondering which of the many bushes here will win the race to have the first blossom. Most years, it's the big yellow standing rose bush, but last year, the apricot one beat it out by a week.
Spring Equinox today, and all I've had the energy to do is a tarot spread for myself, and refresh my altar. That's enough. Some years I forget to do even that.
Well, enough rambling. Back to the werewolves. And as I look up again, there walks Tilly TinyPony, our hugely fluffy black and white longhaired cat. Imagine waking up and you're a werecat, covered in masses of fur, and it's 30 degrees outside, and you find you have a tummy of dreadlocks, and very little brain, and you think you keep seeing the fence wavering and dancing in front of your eyes.....
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
I'm sitting up in front of the tv tonight. I'm watching 'Downton Abbey' Season 2, years after everyone else. If that newspaper editor isn't the son of Michael Palin, I'll eat my hat.

The past few days, I've been crook. Not wholesale revolting crook, which I was the first day, but just slightly under the weather, with runny nose and dry throat rumbling like thunder down below the horizon. The constant state of debilitation that I experience is roaring. Yet, I'm frustrated that there's so much I want to be doing. I've had my fill of lying on my bed, reading. The book I'm currently immersed in is SEE WHAT I HAVE DONE, which is a retelling of the Lizzie Borden case. But even that has lost appeal.
I spend so much darned 'down' time that it's less a luxury and more a prison. And that's how I see fibromyalgia - a sentence. Depression, anxiety, whatever other label we could slap on me, my body is a prison!
I'm told that I need to change my attitude and accept that this is my life now. I refuse. I want my old body back, my energy, my focus and enthusiasm. I want to eat life with a serving spoon, not a teaspoon.
While I love my quiet days of art, tarot, writing, reading, gardening, and walking the dog, I also want my high-energy days of belly dance, of ballroom dancing, of grandparenting, and exploration of my surrounds.
No doubt, at least once a month, there will be variation on this theme, as I turn sulky, angry, or throw a complete tantrum. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair!
Immune-compromised be damned! Give me health, vitality, enthusiasm, focus, and joie de vivre.

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