Melancholy musings

Here I am sitting waiting for hubby listening to the fizzle pop of rain falling on the car.   Listening to to the tunes of U105 feeling melancholy and thinking of life.  A life that seems to be running away so fast.  Speeding along as if rushing to an important date or an exciting event.  I don’t see death being either of those.  So why does life flit by in the blink of an eye.  How did we get to the middle of April without our feet barely touching the ground.  Oh to be young again when time seemed to last forever.  Where summer holidays lasted what seemed like years.  Where school days lingered long.  We all rush to grow up.  To be an adult.  To live life as we please.  Only to find that adulthood is a ball and chain round your ankle.  Where life is still not yours to do with what you want unless if course you were born into money.  No! Adult life is far from the imaginings of a child.  Life gradually speeds up in your twenties, hastens by in your thirties, and disappears in the blink of an eye in your forties, and I hate to think how quick it will go when I am in my fifties, sixties and seventies.  I am certainly at the stage of life where I feel scared that it is nearly over.  That I don’t have time left to do all that I want.  That my stupid body prevents me from fully partaking in my life.  That eight years of my life have slipped away with hardly a blink since becoming disabled.  I often feel that I am on the outside looking in.  Watching others having fun, having energy to go out, visit places I would love to go but are totally inaccessible to me.  Places I long to see and experience.  I never was one to stay on the beaten track, always being the person who wanted to go the long way, the challenging way, the way most would not generally go.  Now I am confined to the beaten track asking constant questions like is it accessible, how much energy will it take, how long will it take to recover, how hard will it be for hubby. I have never been a dependant person, fiercely independent is what I am so I find it difficult asking for help, depending on others to lift and carry, and depending on someone to push me in the wheelchair.  The main person who does this is my hubby. That is not what we planned for our married life.  Not until we were ancient and nearing the end.   This should be our time.  Where son has grown up and our lives become our own.  Where we can have fun and find ourselves as a couple again.  Living in constant pain takes that away to some degree.  We can’t be spontaneous everything has to be planned and mainly around one or two days a week, nothing can be planned for an evening on a work night and at least one day a week is given over to recovering from the immense effort involved with getting ready for work, driving too and from work and plastering on that smile for eight or so hours a day to hide the pain and exhaustion.  Just so I can have four days a week where I feel normal.  Well as normal as you can be with chronic pain.  I often think how much harder my life would be without hubby. He is the one that keeps me going not just by helping me physically but mentally too. I am absolutely petrified of anything happening to him.  Our life is so finally balanced managing my CRPS and Fibromyalgia it would only take something small for the table to tip and everything to come crashing down around our ears.  Life is so so fragile, so unpredictable and so very short and I pray each and every day for equilibrium to be maintained at the very least.

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