Inside of me is there is this stranger, something that eats my energy, my good intentions, my wishes and plans. Most mornings I wake up and I am myself, all over, inside and out. These mornings are wonderful, there is a whole day unfolding and eagerly I am welcoming it. I have come to cherish these slow and peaceful hours and I make my plans carefully, holding back the avalanche of creative ideas and projects that my mind is so endlessly producing. With as much mindfulness I can muster I step out into my day and get on with my tasks. And as I move through the day, the stranger wakes up. At first I notice it just like an insistent nagging, an itch, something trying to get my attention. But soon it is getting tougher, louder, snapping at me. And before I know it I am running, running, trying to stay ahead of this stranger and I am using whatever coping strategies come to mind to keep it out but all my efforts are as useless as trying to bat at an irritable insect. And eventually, exhausted, I give up and there it is, the stranger, the woman with a disease, a pitiful level of energy, shakes and vertigo, nausea, roaring ears and and and and
This stranger scares me no end.