Sometimes it can be so challenging, this life in a body.
Without it I couldn’t be here in this physical world. I’d never smell the gardenias by my front door, or head butt my kitty to say good morning, or feel the thrill of penning a really great story.
But then again, I also wouldn’t have weeks on end of burning fibromyalgia pain and explosive migraines either. (Can you tell that this happens to be one of the times when dealing with my body pretty much sucks enormous donkey balls?)
For me, having fibromyalgia is like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces are not only constantly in motion, but are also constantly changing shape, size, color, location, and orientation in space.
There’s an infinite number of ways these pieces can come together. Sometimes I’m lucky, and I end up with a portrait worthy of Michelangelo himself. Some days I get dogs playing poker on velvet; not the worst picture ever made, but not one I’d really want to hang in my living room. And some days resemble nothing so much as Edvard Munch’s “Scream“.
I never know which picture I’ m going to get on any given day, or why I get the picture I do.
I just feel the swish of butterfly wings, grab my paint brush and palette, and follow the wind.
