Life on the floor...

I sometimes ... lately ... think I should re-name my blog to something like "life on the floor."  Only something a bit quippier.  I mean, it is hard to explain why, when I am ill, I prefer to be on the floor.  It seems to logical to me. But folk tend to comment about how the floor is dirty and insist that surely I would want to be in a chair.  But sitting in a chair is difficult for me.  It takes work.  When I am nauseous or my blood sugar or blood pressure is tanking, I don't want to be in a place it takes work for me to remain there or someplace from which I can fall to the ground.  I have come to see the floor as a friend of sorts.

But also I think my blog should be titled something like that because I oft feel kicked to the floor by this, that, or the other.  Tonight was such a time.  I feel the tiniest bit better having chatted with someone who gave a smidgeon of background, but I still found myself caught up in social gameplay that I still do not understand.  Out of the blue, I was blind-sided and literally kicked to the curb.  Part of me is still crying from the hurt.  Part of me is still miffed about the unfairness of not being able to earn the rewards for my part in a team event.  Part of me is most certain that I will never, ever understand people.

Surely ... surely I must be an alien.

Amos has been licking tears off my face.
I have been absolutely devastated and confused.
And I feel so utterly stupid.

But life goes on and I have no choice but to pick myself back up off the floor.

I have thought a lot about Michelle, whom I do not know from Adam, save for her blog about living with dysautonomia.  Clearly is is more ill than when I first started reading Living with Bob.  I am concerned for her, and I wonder what lies in store for me, physically.  I want to mail her a few bottles of my Zofran.  I wish for her some spates of independence and relief from innards misery.  And I wish for her to understand that even in her misery she has helped me.  Funny, that.  A stranger oblivious to my existence being so helpful.

My realtor wants to come for a visit and this rather lonely person doesn't really want any visitors, save for Becky or Mary or Celia.  I just don't want to have to be "on" for anyone, to be more well than I am, to be presentable or personable or less than grumpy or nauseous or both.  I don't want to have to explain how I am feeling or that I don't have an "upset tummy" but rather malfunctioning nerves affecting so very much of my living.  I want to remain in my pajamas with my hair a mess and red and swollen eyes and be on the floor where life is just ... better.

I think I am so very tired, still, because not only did I take more steps during Becky's visit, but I tired to remain sitting nearly the entire time.  Talk about a work-out!  Becky wouldn't have cared a lick had I laid down most of the time ... or reclined ... or snoozed here and there.  But even with her I did not want to so obviously be the sick person.

Do you think I won the argument?  The white to the left of the picture is the end post of the back porch.  The wolf spider is now making its web anchor from the corner post down to the railing by the grill ... not between the upper posts to the steps.

I cannot find the charger for my regular camera, one on which I could use a macro setting to properly photograph the monster invading my space.  I always put everything back in its place, so I am deeply concerned about the charger.  However, I did find the charger for my second favorite real camera and hope to Funny that in all this time and all that work on their camera, Apple has not created a macro setting for the cameras on the iPhone.

If you concentrate, you can see the web half done ... the massive web.  I hope the spider at least catches some mosquitos for me.

I wonder if the spider understands people....