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Reorganizing

April 17, 2009

I think each individual human brain naturally gravitates to whatever activity promotes its optimal organization; in my case, this is writing.  So, with typing forbidden, and even handwriting limited by numbness and pain, my mind isn’t quite organized.  My mind is like a hapless foreigner to me:  if I yell at it as though it were it were deaf or stupid, maybe it will come to understand English.  I feel a bit like a puddle on a level floor, without momentum to flow toward the sump. 

Normally I would not have music playing; it interferes with my mechanisms of mental organization.  But for now, Rachmaninov’s Vespers in our new boombox provides commiseration and urges organization. 

So many times I was ready to give up my CDs for lunch money, because they were all in my computer.  I’m so glad now that I kept them.  Our powered speakers died, and our portable CD player died, so we got the boombox.  It’s amazing the great sound you get for $60 these days, and it plays all types of CDs, including MP3s.  Just to play a CD in my computer takes several clicks.  I have to select iTunes or WMP or some other option.  Too many options in every detail of life have proven debilitating. 

I don’t know whether the “overuse” injury I have will fully heal.  Addison’s disease, with its compromised cortisol and glycogen, could complicate healing and may contribute to chronic muscle weakness.  I hope to learn more about this from my endocrinologist next month.

If I am not careful with the “overuse” condition, it can become carpal tunnels, or simply linger.  But that threat pales in the face of the greater threat:  that of losing mental organization.  Reading produces no output to hold me accountable the way writing does.  Reading is not a work product.  Only writing keeps me informed that cunning processes have not purloined my language and logic neurons.

I would prefer an unperturbed routine.  I’m less motivated than grumpy at interruptions that compel changes.  As for options, it seems I’m either injured by clicking overlong options menus, or limited by my lack of options.

All in all, life proceeds far more nicely than I deserve.  I have a patient husband to type this, and perhaps, patient readers to read it.  And postcards are arriving–thank you!  Truly, “The stream of God is full of water. . . .”  (Psalm 65:9)

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One Comment
  1. Heidi (a mere housewife) permalink
    April 17, 2009 6:27 pm

    Lauren as usual your posts are a pleasure to the brain cells which get a sort of massage of sounds and analogies. I can understand what you mean about the mind ‘organizing’ itself in a certain way: I have sometimes wondered if writing for me isn’t a form of ‘constitutive language’.
    I think God does these things with chronic ways of thinking etc. because sometimes the hope and strength He has prepared for us can’t be contained in our comfortable structures (this winter I stopped writing, and found answers to some questions that had been troubling me for years after working through the odd and rather terrible chaotic silence). I don’t think my affliction comes near yours but in a small way I understand. I pray that God has great hope and blessing prepared to meet you wherever He leads you. I am sure, because His word is true, that He does.
    I am praying for your wrists and look forward to any more news you have about it.

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