The Slow Life

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.

30 snail

~~~

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If you find a typo, let me know, and I’ll send you a postcard.

8 thoughts on “The Slow Life

    1. Thank you. I get in a state where I want to be someone more energetic and not in pain, but then I look around and see so many healthy unhappy people. Writing about it helps me keep my perspective.

  1. Dear Joy,
    This was a beautiful paragraph. You are rich!

    “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.”

    All the best, Lynn

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