the bends

I’ve started doing yoga recently.

I am not very good at it.

I’m not flexible (the forward bends Rodney Yee expects me to do are just out of my league, at the moment) and apparently I don’t have much balance either.

Even so, I adore yoga. I wish I had time to do his “A.M. Yoga” before I went to work and some more intense yoga in the evening, as a workout. But I don’t. So, for now, I’m alternating them; or, if I have a particularly stressful day ahead of me, I’ll go with “A.M. Yoga” because I am super relaxed afterward.

Still, relaxing and being fit (read: toning up/losing weight) aren’t the only reasons I’m doing this; like nearly everything else, it seems, I’m hoping yoga will help me get a handle on my PSA. Since I’m about ready to add Enbrel to the long list of biologics that started and then stopped working for me (see: Humira [twice], Remicade, Orencia, Enbrel [twice]), I’m desperate to find something, anything that will help.

If I keep up with it — yoga, that is — it should help; it will make my muscles stronger, taking tension off of sore and inflamed joints. But most of all, I’m hoping that sense of calm and strength will power me through the days when I’m feeling helpless, when nothing seems like it’s working, when the pain makes me snappy and quick-tempered. And that hope keeps me going, propels me out of bed on days where I’m so tired I just want to fall back into bed, crawl under the sheets and sleep for a hundred years.

(Picture via WeHeartIt.)

but leave my wretched soul alone

I have been quiet here lately, mulling over some things and working so much it’s a wonder I get anything else done. I know all this work is taking a toll on me; I go to bed exhausted and wake up just as fatigued. No matter how much I sleep, it only seems to be enough to hold my place, making no dent in my sleep deficit. I remember in high school, I could get by on 4-5 hours of sleep; this is true no longer. I miss that, though, and what it allowed me to do. I miss reading until 2 in the morning, getting up at 6 a.m. and going all day with no adverse effects. Oh well; I’m neither as young or as healthy as I was then. The price I pay for staying up a few extra minutes, now, is much higher than it was then.

I was finally forced to tell those at my day job that I can’t work as hard or as long or do as much stuff as I have been. The Big Boss now treats me as though I have leprosy, even though this isn’t contagious. The little boss has backed off a bit, but we’ll see for how long. I have as of yet not had to disclose anything to those at my other job. I think it’s because I enjoy it more, and so it doesn’t wear on me the way this one does. Only speculation, though. It may just be I don’t want to tell more people in my real life than I have to.

But I have been thinking, mulling something over, like I noted earlier. There has to be a way for me to get involved, to raise awareness and, yes, money for research. I don’t know, though. But it’s something I’m keeping in mind, whenever I have a spare moment or two