workin' on a thing...

Atlas

Here's the thing.  I have spent a long time losing and mourning the loss of abilities like fine motor function of my hands, walking without aids, balancing to stand, the will to write, draw, paint  - and on and on and on...

The nature of my 'embuggerance' -as Terry Patchett has called his particular and altogether more dreadful demon, nach meiner meinung, means that the sand beneath my feet will always be shifting and horrifying me in new and subtle ways.  So, in order not to run screaming into the road each and every day (although in  my case, that would be 'wheeling'), I need to "screw my courage to the sticking place" - and I hope you get the reference, there... it's Macbeth. This is taking me longer and  requiring more energy than I thought it would.  And with me already being of a depressive nature, it is taking an Herculean effort, actually - and I can't always and at every moment, rise to it.  Not a failure, just a fact.

mug

today, been made to feel like this - (may not translate across the pond, but brits will know what i mean)