For the record, this Ragamuffin has not been at her best lately -- physically or mentally. There has been too much for a healthy me to handle, and I am not a healthy me.
The pressure at work has been astounding for several weeks now, accompanied by feelings of not wanting to be there (which are horrid, because I love my research with all my being). Coincidentally, dearest Remicade seems to have stopped working its magic, becoming a premature delinquent and leaving me with a very big decision to make. Therefore, there seems to be some competition between my mind and my gut for who is currently the most put out by Life, and who deserves the most coddling. I've been closing the door on both of them and left them to tire of their own tantrums. This has not been as effective as I had hoped.
The not being well has come at a very bad time -- it's a brilliant creature, Timing. With a month left before the big move, I have been making an honest effort to gather with my friends (among many, many other things which are not the subjects of this post). This has recently required one, and sometimes even two, after-work outings each week. Such outings, while they can be so soulfully rewarding, are not accommodating to pain or heavy Throughput. Therefore, I have been making plans freely with the best intentions, and inevitably canceling or rescheduling them with great embarrassment.
I am not a flake. But my insides are. Therefore, my most sincere apologies to those of you who I have slighted of late (none of whom read this blog, incidentally), and to those of you who I have yet to slight (some of whom do read, incidentally), be forewarned.
I have thirteen years of this practice under my belt, and yet I am still bothered when my flaking is not well-received. Don't they understand by now -- my friends of ten years or more, especially -- that as type-A as I am, sometimes (often, lately) I just can't make it happen? It comes as a surprise to me that many of them do not. Love me as they might, they still do not understand the chronic nature of chronic illness. And so despite my greatest efforts, I become a flake.