If I’m not on time.

Something about the migraine set off various other issues and I’ve been in bed except for when I needed to cook since then. It’s not that unusual or strange for me, or anyone else who has CFS among other things, for them to all blend together into a week or more of near-immobility. But I think stress had a heavy hand in it, and, ironically, I need energy to try to do something about getting through the next month.

It also came with reasonably bad joint pain, especially in my hands and wrists. The stand mixer is hopelessly glutened, and I’d always planned to do all of the kneading myself, anyway — it just seemed more correct, in this context — but as I’ve barely managed to cut vegetables for food, it hasn’t happened yet.

No one seems bothered in the slightest. It’s very confusing and strange.

We were married at home entirely on schedule, and everyone managed to come, except poor R., whom I couldn’t seem to take with me and he couldn’t find me.

And it was lovely.

I plan to write much more, myself, when my hands are behaving, but… well. If I ever wondered if things that happened there were just as valid and important as things that happen here, that’s settled.

 

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