This is for my friend Sandra to allow her her daily dose of "musical Tourettes".Now, after that aside I will get to the point. It is a good thing no-one was home yesterday. I was in a terrible mood. My back was hurting again. That's getting on to a month now. I am really getting sick of low grade pain. I know what caused it.
I had a pretty full on computer-based day on Saturday. I guess I was just trying to stay out of the
'other end of the house' as that is
where the emotional danger zone lies. So I hybernate in my study under the guise of getting down to work on my PhD.
That works as long as people do not come looking for me to find every lost item as need arises.
Who am I the house psychic? What makes men think women have this special intrinsic connection with missing items of clothing or passports from ten years ago?
I must have been staring into space mentally critiquing her over-the-top use of sparkles and bugle beads, when the fairygodmother handed out this particular female skill set.Then I get shitty, and start to lose the little focus I had. I notice I return to form and start doing electronic paper shifting and administrative e-filing. Thus a productive hour fritters into a less productive two hours.
Ah the PhD, that wonderful opportunity to focus on one thing at the expense of all other demands. I know in theory it should be that way. Yet, for every female candidate I have spoken with, it simply doesn't unfold that way.
"We are the females of the house, so we must maintain the household emotional caregiving roles, even when we are working!"
And that little room filled with books, computers and printers... it is a workplace, yet apparently only the PhD candidate sees it that way.
To others it is a space where Mum can be trapped and forced to be approachable... she has no way out apart from leaving via the external door and that would be just plain rude!How I long to be "just plain rude" sometimes.Yet, I do not shout, as I should,... I just simmer in silence for ages after each interruption ensuring that the interruption itself now expands into available minutes and hours.
Well this was my Saturday. Filled with meeting others needs and juggling a few precious moments of concentration on my screen and Exegesis... and like Christ's story, the writing up bit is the problematic one, even for one disciple with a single focus and perspective.
Yet, by the end of the day, or after a good twelve hour stint I feel free to watch my beloved Magpies on the TV, against the old foe Brisbane.
On no, sitting again. By the third quarter I realise that my back and lower spine are hurting. I have sat still too long. Sunday would inevitably be a nightmare of pain and discomfort. It was.
Why is it that when I actually put in the work required at this stage of the PhD, physically my body is now letting me down, not just my mind?
Saturday night into Sunday was a blur of pain. Hot water bottle, hot shower, pepermint masage cream, physio stretches then resorting to analgesics and fitful sleep from 5.30am.
Sunday a blur. There was no way I could be dragged from the bed before midday. As I stood I realised that the pain was not over. More analgesics and a need for gentle stretches and excercises... but hey it's conviently raining.
I was becoming so down that there was no possible way to motivate myself into going outside.
It is so much more reassuring to use a curled and purring cat on the lap as excuse for not moving, (and sure looks cute) even knowing that by sitting still again I would be compounding the pain.
Like wiccans, my cat of choice is of the black variety... what does that say about me?... another extraneous aside.I feel no control over my actions. My lethargy is overwhelming. I feel like I am sliding into the darks space.... I have and the doona cannot call too soon. I am back with hot water bottle and pepermint cream at 7.30pm. Yep, I lasted less than 7 hours in an approximation of upright and awake.
Oh Oh....
