Herself speaks.
I had an extremely powerful Migraine yesterday. (Fortunately, that type of migraine is relatively rare for me; I usually have much more mundane headache or lower-case migraine.) This kind of migraine is the one that I think of as catastrophic -- the kind that is the reason why I keep a bowl and a towel in my car, so that if I vomit, I will be prepared; the kind that pins me to the spot (be it the couch, or preferably, the bathroom floor with a pillow) because any movement will provoke the nausea and dizziness further. The kind where I make promises to myself that I will do better, try harder to avoid triggers, anything, please just make it stop.
It does eventually stop. I am 75% better, 36 hours later. I have been able to eat, and took a short walk. I attended a Zoom meeting (which, fortunately, did not require too much active participation). I picked up groceries. I cleaned the bunny pens. I have accomplished so little of what I had planned this weekend, but right now, I will have to be satisfied that this is enough for today. Because catastrophic does require a bit of recovery time. Perhaps tomorrow I will be even better. I hope so.
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As I lay on the bathroom floor yesterday, willing it to stop, I found myself realizing that I have once more found myself without an adequate support system. Beloved Husband was away on a much-anticipated trip with two friends; the one adult Offspring living at home was at work. I had no one to call to ask to please buy me some lettuce and tend to the bunnies; or even to hand me some cold water in the hopes that would help the nausea. I really would have benefitted from some having another adult -- an adultier adult -- to care for me. I was very much Alone.
Ten years ago, when I had also found myself Alone, the Universe saw fit to deliver to me a handful of friends. It was such a blessing. Yet in the decade since then, some of those people turned out to be not my friends at all, but rumor-mongering two-faced individuals who impugned me and people important to me; and others, though well-intentioned, moved away or dropped out of sight. Ultimately, those things did not matter much, for I kept one friend, my most Cherished Friend, and that was enough.
Now he is Oceanside, and I cannot ask him to help me or invite him to run mundane errands or to go for a walk as we once did when he lived in my fair city; and I cannot even visit him and peruse the used bookstore or play Scrabble or go for a hike as we once did when he lived in his own corner of the southwest. And even though I am, as always, glad for him that he is near the water and pursuing his dream of sailing and making a new life for himself Oceanside, I am once more bereft, because my Friend is not here.
I need to make some more friends, this I know. Or at least Reliable Acquaintances. I need somehow to formulate a Plan for identifying like-minded people who are nearby, who do not need much from me (because I have Little to give at the moment), and with whom I can do small things or whom I can call if I need an occasional head of lettuce.
And I know that it is childish for me to think I don't want NEW friends, though. I want my OLD friend.
I do not want what I cannot have.
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