I find I cannot write without making mistakes. If I am feeling weary, the words become cgabrles and I need to correct them. This makes saying anything at oall with the written word diffcult. I go back and make alterations. Everything is tiring at that point, and then I decide not to try to say nayfhgn at all.
The spoken word is also difficult. The words that I mean to wsay diffsiacult sdia disappear; I stammer, I go quiet while I wait for the acordd correct word to make itself known. It is communication. One aspect of the problem. I do not alays recognizw e that what I am saying is out of context and disaconnected until someone points it out to be.
I was afraid to admit here that this is happening, but I hav e made it a opint to be onest about my illness.
These are some things that I do.
I read blogs. Blog ebtries are not so hard to read. I read Susan Sontag's journals. I actually do not sleep as much as I would think I would. I talk to my doctors a lot. I use my Tarot deck to guide me (I have pulled the Son of Cups twice in two days). I write things down so that I wont' forget them. Light candles. Swaddle myself in my red shawl. Make lists of people who can help me in an emergency. All they need to do, really, is to be there. If I ask, Where am I? What time is it?, there can be someone to tell me. To explain what that means.
That is all I have to say for today. Dearest darlings, if you have blog recommendations or blog posts that you think I would like to look at, please tell me about them in the comments.
Also. Rest in peace, Elmo Buddy D'aquin. I love you. I am sorry I cannot make it to the funeral. I know you would understand.