The regular reader will know that one of the most frustrating parts of my ME is the cognitive dysfunction- sometimes my brain just doesn’t work. Well, it works, but not the way I’d like. All the brain power is directed at getting my body to keep on keeping on, and there’s nothing left for making sense of the world.
I forget things. I puzzle over the obvious. I find the post overwhelming. I look at the pictures in the weekend magazines and avoid the news. I know there are horrible and interesting things happening at home and across the globe, but I’m not sure why, or even where. I’d love to be outraged or even curious, but I’m usually vague or asleep.
I’ve been more sore than normal the last while. Painkillers, rest, hot water bottles, little old lady rugs over my legs. No reading. All very dull.
Over the weekend, though, there were positive signs. Not so many painkillers. Walking up the stairs like a normal person, without leaning on the upper steps. I even skimmed the grown up bit of the paper without needing a darkened room.
I decided to take a risk, and lift a worthy book. A Booker nominated book. There may have been a mental swagger at my all round awesomeness.
A doubt appeared when I read the review snippet that said “Read it. Then go and have a bit of a lie down.” I read on through the list “…one of the most exhilarating ‘difficult’ books published for many years”
A ‘difficult’ book? What was wrong with my head? (don’t bother answering that)
Well, the book was in my hand now; I was not going to be defeated by the reviews.
Several hours and 36 pages later, I conceded.
I’ll come back to it someday, because it’s fascinating.
In the meantime, I’ll stick to books with paragraphs and chapters. How disappointingly traditional of me.