A safe container

Thoughts don't come easy on this new medication. It gives me access to physical energy/ability to do things, but that energy is drawn from the same pool I'd use to think, and it doesn't make the pool any bigger. The more I draw on the physical pool, the worse the cognitive pool gets. It's also striking how clean the lines are on what my mind can do and what it can't do when I look at cognitive tests. I'm so curious about it and I'd like to know more.

(think of that last paragraph like a 5 mile run where I pause and just sit, doing the mental equivalent of panting, and decide that's enough on that subject because there are other things I want to write about).

Today I was once again thinking about how PTSD and autism are linked in our society. More specifically, how perception of actual reality is discouraged-- how people with sensory differences are taught from very young that their senses are lying to them. Sunlight, or heat, or cold, or sitting in a chair, or low noise-- those aren't really painful, don't be silly. Twirling, or standing on your toes, or doing proprioceptive activities, those can't possibly be stabilizing, they're distracting, don't be silly.

So it's hard to learn, not just what pain or pleasure or stability feel like, but also what reality is. It's hard to interact with the actual world because we can't share those experiences, we need to keep them secret.

(another pause for cognitive breath, while I give up on where that train of thought was going)

It's beautiful here today. Good crisp below zero, bright sun bouncing off the snow, if you had a south-facing rock you could nap in front of it while the thermometer read -15C and it wouldn't be cold.

I started a ton of pepper seeds on the weekend. Last year I'd tried really hard not to start too many seedlings, so when the garden club started up and started selling seedlings I didn't have any extra. The year before I was going to be moving to the Island so I didn't start much. This year I can go back to starting lots of seedlings and Corrie said she can sell them at the farmer's market, I guess people snap up anything that looks like a seedling no matter what in the spring. So: peppers started. Tomatoes will be started roughly beginning of March. Squash will be started roughly mid-end April, along with cucumbers. Not sure if I should do lettuce etc?

I definitely need to set up my big shelf for seedlings. Right now things are being started, waiting for dividing in a flat, under my one light. Looking forward to this.

Meanwhile my body hasn't been able to do pottery much, and Tucker was here last week, so that's been slowly humming in the background. TS Eliot is always on my mind. At some point my skill may be enough to capture some of this.

While it lasts

My counselor and I were brainstorming what I'd need to live on if I can't work anymore, and how that might look. I've been feeling that this life, which I love, has an expiry date and maybe so should I in that case. I can't imagine giving up my animals -- my family -- and my ability to grow things. I can't picture just languishing on Mom's or a friend's second bed until my body annoys them into kicking me out.

I could be happy here even if the deterioration continues; emotionally I can handle not being able to think or move much, just lying with my dogs, getting up when I can. As long as I can feed myself and run the house -- paring away the extra animals, if there was a way to get supportive infrastructure and maybe replace wood with fully electric heat, set up a hydrant in the field so I don't need to carry water, fix the road into the back pasture so I don't need to carry feed as far. I'm not sure how I'd do that with less money but it left me with a sense of hope, that maybe it wouldn't need to be November that this life is over, but could be longer.

Either way I'm happy now, and happy to have had this.

I could spend a lot of time being frustrated that more prompt access to the medical system might actually have meant I didn't have to worry about this, that it's possible a couple timely specialist appointments would have meant I'd be perfectly ok right now, but there'll be time to do that if I do in fact lose my job because of it.

I'm still struggling with the idea that I might have to go on disability just to wait for specialists to get back to me, not because I'm irreparably sick but because I just haven't got to that right pill yet, if it exists. I can't imagine shifting my whole outlook to being ok with a lesser and continuously lessening level of functionality for a couple years, then getting used to the idea of going back to work full time after that again. It feels dislocating? Though I've got used to things I can't imagine before, I suppose.

None of this should maybe be as alarming as it sounds, but things are definitely deteriorating and I don't see any reason they should stop unless I can actually manage to get appointments with folks -- my doctor is currently scheduling four months out except there's maybe one to two days per month you can call in to get an appointment, after that her schedule is full and you have to try and hit the window next month. I can call the nurse's line and see what they recommend but just doing this stuff takes basically 80% of the capacity I have, and I can't navigate the system and work at the same time.