Most of yesterday was cloudy, which is nice in the summer when the sun can be so hot.  It stayed in the low 80s, so it was nice.

I felt sluggish.  I have for the past month, had that feeling of moving through syrup that people with chronic fatigue are familiar with.  Even though I have had neurological problems for 40 years now, I still get frustrated by these bouts of fatigue.  I am able, mostly, to keep up with my social obligations — in fact, I find often it helps to be around other people.  I kind of leech off their energy.  Although sometimes I can’t answer questions coherently, and forget things, I still like to be with other people.

Then I nap.  I don’t get much artwork done.

I have had a morning writing practice for about 5 years  now, but this last month I just stopped.  I slept.  I told myself it didn’t matter whether I wrote or not — and I have all these piles of composition books filled with nothing much.

Yes, that’s a sign of depression.

I’m being treated for it, but fatigue and depression, they are part of my life, no matter what I do.

My son’s been helpful.  He paints with me sometimes, gets me out of my lethargy bubble.  He’s in his thirties and energetic.  But after we painted for about 2 hours, he said he was tired and took a nap on the couch.

I was delighted.  If he needs a nap after painting, then maybe I’m not so abnormal after all.  It is intense work, even if it’s nourishing work.  I took a nap, too.

So this morning I did my morning write:  I wake up, make a cup of coffee, get back in bed, prop up the pillows and write in a notebook for as long as I need — usually about 30 minutes.  Most of it is just recounting yesterday, or working out a problem.  Sometimes a real story or poem will flow out and I’m there to catch it.

The day starts with words.  It helps my memory.  It’s a space that’s all mine.

And now, here I am writing a blog post again.  One creative act leads to another.

Late yesterday afternoon, the clouds got a darker shade of gray, thunder rumble like long monstrous growls.  A light rain sprinkled down, then a heavy rain drenched the ground.  As the sun set, it lightened up, and for a while it rained while the sun shone.

The light changed as the sun sank lower on the horizon, and glowed a golden pink.  A magical kind of light that made my little bit of the world like another planet, with soft light and sweet damp air.

I am so lucky, so very lucky, to have a life that’s slow enough that I can see such moments, savor them from beginning to end, to watch the sky fade from the magic of daylight to the rich dark blue of night.

Yesterday, I accomplished nothing.  And I accomplished everything.

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