poplar tree in our backyard
i say this because i've never really been a morning person, but morning has been less friendly with the fibromyalgia. If you've read this blog before, you probably remember that i've whined heartily about the Fentanyl withdrawals and the fact of that experience leaving me with even less energy than before.
But changes seem to be in the wind--i've taken adrenal support supplements for a few months, and am now on Cymbalta, the pharmaceutical recently proclaimed on commercials as the answer to my fibro pain. We shall see how it goes, but whether from the time passed from initial withdrawals till now, or the adrenal improvement or the Cymbalta, i'm finally able to wake up at a decent hour and get out of bed! (By "decent" i refer to hours starting at 7, not the indecent time my hubby gets up-- 4:20am.)
The simple act of being able to wake up and get up is one i haven't been in touch with for a while. The fibromyalgia, diagnosed about 3 1/2 years ago, has changed my usual world of "i really don't want to get up" into "i feel really exhausted still and i'm too sore to move anyhow, so i really don't want to get up." They're simply different by degrees--did i mention i've never been a morning person??!
The extra good part of mornings lately is that in this end of a Castro Valley August, the weather is clear and even on the hot days the mornings are lovely and breezy. The balcony outside our second floor bedroom invites me to sit and listen.
my treehouse nook
i am a lucky girl. (Okay, a seriously over 50 girl, but still...) When our second floor was added and the balcony made, it had no covering over top. Me, being the delicate flower that i am, suggested that protection from the elements would be good. Dear hubby did that. So now i have a lovely treehouse nestled in the branches of the poplar tree, or so it seems.Do you notice the sounds of morning are different than later in the day? And the sounds carry through the air differently in the summer? My nest asks me to shhhh and listen.....the constant soft swishing of the traffic on the freeway a mile away, the rhythmic thrum of my bedroom ceiling fan...the workman's tools two doors down...the rustling of the poplar tree's leaves. Listening has become a calming practice of feeling outside my own body and its pain, of being strictly in that moment, a meditation of sorts.
Skimmer's recap: Not a morning person. Mornings improving. Good morning to me.