I sit and try to write. On paper, words come quickly, but my hand tires easily. Darts of light from the computer screen bore into my migrained brain as I type, letters too small, the process too long. My head pounds, neck is wracked with pain, back on fire. Hands slowed by numbness and pain, writing falls to the wayside as I opt for quieter, less arduous pursuits.
Some people have writer's block. Me? I have pain block. I sit, myriad thoughts swirling in my brain, but once I start to translate the thoughts into words, pain takes over and my mind fogs.
Would that someone invent a device that could transcribe my thoughts to typed word, I could put my insomnia to good use and compose while I attempt to slumber. Instead, inspiration gets sucked into the void of my overtired, overburdened mind come daybreak.
My to-do list is miles long. Waking every morning with the best of intentions to get things done, I'm excited about the tasks at hand. An attempt at movement immediately overwhelms my body with pain and all plans fall to the wayside until movement and medication lessen the agony.
I used to procrastinate the mundane. Now I'd love to tackle the everyday duties that pain blocks me from starting.
This blog post has taken months. I've started, stopped, updated, reworded, and then finally gave up and decided to worry less about the language and more about the post itself.
What's important here is not the pain. It's the getting up and moving. It's the continuing to write in fits and spurts until some semblance of something comes from it. It's the moving forward and doing things despite the pain as well as the doing nothing all day in the name of taking care of myself and being ok with it.