Doubts and worries.

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As much as I have been doing, I worried about this morning.  You can know some of this, but not to my level.  It isn't just about waking up sore, or needing to sleep in.  There have been decades, where if I pushed as I have, I would fall and stay down for months.  Months in which memory didn't exist.  I had to live, at best, with notes to tell me of anything important, which I would probably miss even so.  Months where eating happened in large quantities at rare moments.  There was pain, too, but of a sort that never got better.  Actually, to some degree, it isn't better now.  It's just that between learning to live with it, and my body's natural ability to tolerate large doses of it, I don't notice even when mostly positively cognitive.  But the pain can go beyond my capacity to cap it.  Part of the fugue can be from emotional, or physical, suffering.  At some depths of either, the two somehow mix, compound, and increase.  Pushing as I have been has done that.

Not this time.  I still wonder if I am skating on the edge of a razor blade... just waiting for the horror to hit.  And yet, after weeks, off and on, and really months now, I don't think so.  And yet, after a particularly heavy week, I... wonder.  Some nights, when I go to bed, I have to think that maybe I won't be waking up for a week, months, perhaps a year.  I have been, mostly, down for that long before.  I can do much in that fog, and it doesn't seem to impair my native morality, and now Christian ethic.  As to doing things, I simply used to need a woman type to guide me, for a while.  A woman would still help, but I wouldn't need her for memory.  Mostly, or any more than she would need me.  :p

The week isn't over.  I, at least, have raking this afternoon.  And I would like to hit the dishes, with the sink working, and do kitchen cleanup while I am at it.  Oh, and maybe break down the last of the boxes.  I'm a bit hesitant about some of the boxes... just because of what they contained.  I have this fear of tearing a box down only to need it to make a return.  How long should you keep boxes?  Never mind.  I think with what boxes I have, and the time that has gone by, and this and that, it is safe to take those down.  It's a little devil I always seem to have to wrestle with, until the task is forgotten.  No more.  My memory outlives my dilemma these days.

I might actually have the kitchen done, today or tomorrow.  Then, next week, I can focus on the living room.  Sort, move, dust, vacuum, then steam clean.  I think I can get it done next week.  Probably.  Then, most likely, on to my bedroom, finally.  After that, the guest bedroom.  And then I will begin figuring out the en suit bathroom.  Oh, while I'm in the living room, I need to see about planks for shelving.  If 4x12's, of furniture grade... or at least plainable cuts that would work well enough for painting, aren't available, perhaps 3 or solid 2 x 12's are available.  They would be lighter, easier to mount, but not nearly as dramatic, or rustic, or... masculine.  But they would suit, give or take.  I am, after all, making my world.  Sometimes, seemingly, out of whole cloth.  Things I like, improbable notions, made to work for my eye to design, aesthetics, tastes, wants.  Though these things aren't completely stylistic, either.  Shelves open up the floor space, making it easier to work the devices to be put on the shelves, opens up the floor for easier cleaning, and is potentially a much steadier base upon which to store these things.  In the bathroom, they will offer easier cleaning, and I can adjust the height of the top counter to suit me without having to fuss with building a box for under something else.  I simply place the top shelf at the level I want it.

I truly am amazed at how things are going.  I keep saying that.  As Dr. Manette, from the Tale of Two Cities, if for, mostly, different reasons, I know how quickly I can fall into illness.  I am sure, as with him, I myself will fall into my own portion of that notion from time to time.  Now, it seems, the falls are rather short, and mild.  Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor... and shoesmith.  I didn't think I would make it out... alive?  Something like that.  Wonderful, really.  I may never know the fullness of the past or what the future holds.  I can't even always contain the moment, though who can?  But I am at a place where I can move on, mostly unhindered by those shadows, ghosts, and truths that all but ate the spirit out of me for so long.  A new day.  And yet, until I am more sure, and experienced, as today, I will always approach some tomorrows with great trepidation.  A fugue is a horrible prison, or grave, for the aspects of a being.

Later.