I diligently fitted my splints before even getting out of bed this morning. Some things are important and should take priority. I’m compulsive, happiest when loosing myself in a task as hours fly by unnoticed. It’s not a trait that goes well with a condition that demands frequent breaks and does not allow for much repetition. My days of seemingly nothing much is actually filled with rather plenty when I stop to think. I love my computer and although I do use Dragon, I enjoy typing too much to ever give it up permanently. I have plenty to tinker with and have fun doing so. I write, I read, I research. I have a good few interests and have found ways to indulge in them virtually combined with the occasional interest trip out. I tend to forget all this because none if it is a job or a career. My time is not my own enough to allow for that and I am done crying in bathrooms whilst curled up on a cold tiled floor, unsure if I could stand without falling over again and dreading the rest of the day and I haven’t even gotten to my desk yet.

Kologarn was the usual nightmare again last night and after saying ‘please stop’ and being ignored, Chris left the room because he still can’t watch when I really get hurt, particularly as I have a tendency to just get up and say ‘again’.  Living with me for seven years has brought the message home that everything is difficult and living requires a special blend of determination, stubborness, stupidity and an inherent capacity to recognise when you’re beat and being a gracious looser. Warcraft conversation always goes back to ‘but it can’t be fun and games are for fun so why play if it isn’t fun. I don’t know how to explain that nothing is ever just fun. Everything hurts me, it’s simply a matter of degrees. Warcraft is fun and I loved raiding last night. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t start to fall apart when my wrist felt like it was broken after the first wipe and we wiped more than once and every time it was, 1. put it back in, 2. stop crying, 3. focus, 4. here we go again. But I didn’t get hit by the eye beams once. Step 1: Don’t die. Check. Next we’ll worry about Step 2: Healing and Step 3: Don’t dislocate stuff.  It may have been complete chaos on this side of my screen, but it translated less into the game than before. That’s improvement, it’s a good start. It’s generally frowned upon that health-related stuff is step 3 and not step 1, but I’m simply being realistic. I have to figure out how to do something first before I can figure out how to do it in the least painful manner. Simple as.

Chris can put in a 12-hour work day followed by 2-3 hours at home spend pottering about and then log in for a 3-5 hour raid that same evening. I can’t help comparing. I forget that I shouldn’t. It’s just not that easy. There is the danger to do less and less because doing hurts. There is also the danger of doing more and more because everything hurts. I can’t say that I am not tempted to skip Kologarn because the way the encounter is structured to hit all my weak points. It’s not just the eye beams, it’s the precise positioning and the complex decision making required. It’s a small space with plenty of graphics, there are little advanced warning making anticipation difficult except when it comes to the tanks where anticipation is everything. Timing is important and with so much going on in a pretty random fashion, it’s hard work for me. I forget to think about how I move my hands and that’s a dangerous thing to do. It’s again Warcraft analogy time and it does help me understand why I am so tired when I feel as if I’m not doing all that much. It’s because I am doing more than I should but in my head it simply doesn’t count as anything useful.

I get tired and my instant response is that it can’t be because I haven’t been doing anything. I forget that that really means that I have not been doing anything that I deem useful. It actually means that I’m not doing what Chris does and in comparison I fail. I slowed down today. Took longer breaks. Stopped before I got tired. Stepped away from my computer more often. Spent the afternoon in bed with a book, a husband and a cat and although the husband only had a while before needing to head out and continue his usual busy day, I stayed in bed stroking the cat nestling his head into my neck as we both feel asleep. Sometimes less is more and when I start to feel that I’m not doing enough, I’m usually already doing too much. Lesson learned. I hope.