Self Pity

[ma-leyz, -muh-; French malez] 


  1. A condition of general bodily weakness or discomfort, often marking the onset of a disease.
  2. A vague or unfocused feeling of mental uneasiness, lethargy, or discomfort.


Rather than vague I’d use the term indistinct. It isn’t so much that the feeling is subtle or elusive as it is all encompassing and impossible to attribute to one cause only. It is clear beyond doubt that there are ongoing and tangible causes for this pall set over the landscape, but it lately the hope it might be temporary fails to dispel the gloom in any durable way.

Most of all I am weary of being unwell. I feel robbed of my vigor and hobbled by this unknown affliction. Every task seems harder and I am amazed at all I was once able to do so readily without a bare second thought.

Seeking answers has become a persistent occupation, though one which has yielded little meaningful result. Down several organs with no substantial relief, I am back into the fray; set to be prodded, poked, questioned, and laid quite bare. Mayhap I had more energy, I could rise to indignance. As it is, all I have is faint and ragged hope.

With occasional breaks for unpleasant surprises and intermittent sadness.

In case you were interested in the physio-emotional weather report for me this week; that’s pretty much it. Descended like a hurricane Wednesday night, has yet to depart. Looks like to ruin the weekend. The doggy is not so much understanding when it comes to “Mama is feeling so woozy if she walks you she will fall down*” so we could be in for some cranky puppy action til I am feeling better.

*Nevermind that I fell down fully healthy and hale on Tuesday.

Or, it might as well be, with respect to me spending yet another holiday season ALL ALONE!

It’s cool though, I have like practically FOUR months to come to terms with it.