I see it’s been a week since I updated.

This past Saturday was Tarasmas. For those who know what that is, yes, it’s a bit out of season, but it was scheduled thusly on purpose. This year’s theme for the interconnected radio plays was history; the evening began with the creation of the earth and went from there. There were some truly inspired casting choices, some great moments where people stepped up to fill in for missing cast members, and great hilarity and deep literary and historical appreciation were enjoyed by all. We stepped out into a Siberian winter storm, one of which had gone on for several hours while we were indoors and yet hadn’t been responded to by city snow crews, so the drive home (for us and pretty much everyone) was interesting, to say the least. When we got home at midnight we discovered the next-door neighbours shovelling our driveway and steps, so I came inside to make coffee and HRH helped them do their own side. At that point there was about fifteen centimetres on the ground, and another five to seven fell overnight. The boy slept over at his local grandparents’ house, so HRH and I got to sleep in. I even brought HRH coffee in bed as an apology for having to wake him up at quarter past nine in order to shovel again. The boy was delighted with all the snow; he had his grandma out at nine AM to build a fort in the backyard, and we picked up a snow saucer on the way home that afternoon with him, so he and HRH could build more of his snow slide in our own backyard, as well as a fort built under the play structure.

The fibro is making things pretty miserable, as I outlined here. I’ve been making ruthless choices about what I can and cannot do, and most of the time it’s working, except for the appended guilt and frustration. I just kind of keep gritting my teeth and trudging forward, losing ground. Yesterday was one of the worst days I’ve had since that bad day two weeks ago. The boy was home on Monday thanks to a ped day (not-so-helpfully announced a single week before the day itself, the late notice of which completely bolluxed my planned work schedule for the week) so we drove out to the western tip of the island to see the doctor and get his vaccination booster shots (to which he said, “What? That doesn’t even hurt!” when the doctor injected him), then spent a couple of hours with Ceri and Ada. That was okay, although moderately tiring. Driving takes a lot out of me, and since my minimum commute to my bare-bones regular activities is forty-five minutes each way, it’s not inconsequential. But yesterday I had a cello lesson, so I gave myself an hour to brush off the car and have a leisurely drive. Good plan, and it would have worked if I hadn’t discovered half an inch of knobbly ice under the three inches of snow. It took me half an hour total to get the car clear, and I was so tired when I got in that I considered calling my teacher to cancel, except I’d done that two weeks ago when I had too much work to do and we’re missing a lesson next week because she’s out of town. So I got out there, exhausted, told her that I wasn’t in a good place, and she tried to give me something different and — she thought — intuitive to do, and it just stressed me out more. I don’t think I’ve adequately communicated to her what the fibro actually does to me in terms of focus, energy, and exhaustion-wise, because when I said I might not make it to orchestra the next night because I was so bad she just smiled and said, “I’ll see you there.” Or maybe she just knows me really well, and knows I’ll fight to get through it and sure, I’ll get there because I’ve made a commitment, but I’ll blow what energy I have for the next two days.

I’m fighting this weird zoning out thing while I do the 45-min drive out to my lesson, the boy’s lesson, and orchestra. Orchestra is the worst, because it’s at the end of the day. I don’t know whether it’s physical weariness, or fibro fog, or both. The drive takes so much out of me, and then I have to buck up and focus on the music for two and a half hours at orchestra (for example) and then I have to drive back home. I don’t know what to do about it. I keep telling myself it will get better as winter fades. I hate that it takes so much energy just to deal with the weather.

The book writing is going along. Because I’ve been so foggy and the typing of bird facts has been going so slowly, I haven’t been getting as much word count down as I’d like. I managed 3,000 words today though, which is more than respectable when I’ve been doing 1,000 a day for the past bit, so I’m happy with that. I have a 50% of book check-in date of February 15 next week, so I’m trying to get as close to 50% as possible. I’ll probably come in just under it, but I’ll have done all I can do to date. I need to choose six to ten actual bird entries and make them as complete as possible for the hand-in, too. That’s going to be time-consuming, and not yield much wordage.

The spinning wheel got its second coat of stain this weekend. I chose a warm gold to put over the cool dark walnut, and it’s perfect; it came out exactly that shade I wanted it to. I’d give you a picture, but I can’t seem to take one that looks any different from the first one, although they look very different in real life. I was going to wax it last night, but I opened the tin of furniture paste wax HRH had brought home from work and slammed it shut again immediately. It stank. There was no way I was going to breathe that while I waxed all the fiddly stuff, nor did I want any hint of that chemical smell clinging to the wheel. So I’m currently searching for a non-petroleum-based wax. My mother tells me she uses Brimax, so I’m looking for that. There’s a distributor in Pointe-Claire, but I don’t know if they sell direct to retail customers; I’ll have to call and ask later this week. Etsy lists a few handmade organic beeswax- and carnuba-based polishes with either lemon, orange, or lavender oil in them, so I may order one of those. I could always concoct one myself, too; there are enough recipes out there. I’d have to find the ingredients first, of course.

The boy and I encountered our first challenging cello practice this past Monday. He whined and complained so much that he didn’t even ask for a sticker when, five minutes in after the ten-minute struggle to get him set up, I said that maybe we should do it another day. He decided that maybe it would be better to practice as soon as he got home from school, then have his snack and play on the computer a bit, because then he wouldn’t have to be told repeatedly to get off the computer and set up for the practice session that actually enjoys when he isn’t wanting to be doing something else.

Right. Boy-fetching time.