I finally went ahead and bought dictation software, seeing as how my hands are getting worse rather than better, and I keep hoping that if I use them less they'll be available to me at least some of the time. On Monday I'll schedule a time to have steroid injections for my wrists. I do hope that works. I also finally started taking fibromyalgia medication, which will take a week to start working if it starts working at all; Chris is the one who picks up my medications, always at the same pharmacy, with the same two employees, and he jokes that they must think he has some kind of invalid wife who lies back on pillows all day and watches her soaps, maybe with a cat.
In general I feel that my physical form is falling apart. If it could it would shed its parts as I walked, letting itself disappear. I don't know what to do about the pain, and I'm so used to using my hands, because when I write fiction there's a certain connection between my brain and my hands to form the sentences; here, in this blog entry, I am tentatively trying a new form of composition — one entirely reliant on verbal dictation. Not to mention all the other strange pains.
Also I keep canceling on people, and things, because I don't feel well – well, when will I feel better, or "well," again? Are these the new circumstances? I try not to think about it. Daphne wants to play ball with me, but it hurts to throw for her. Still she insists on picking up the ball and dropping it in front of me, over and over again, never giving up. Never giving up.