Today, I was supposed to attend the Toronto edition of LotuSphere Comes To You. I'd been looking forward to the event, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of what's to come, and maybe get a bit of that convention high that happens when a bunch of enthusiasts get together for a common purpose. Sadly, that was not to happen. Today was, instead, one of those increasingly frequent days when my arms and legs simply would not do what I wanted them to do when I wanted them to do it.
As much as I hate to admit it to myself, I have reached the point where I can no longer look after myself in any reasonable sense of that phrase. Yes, I have been working with the local social services agencies to try to find a supported living situation, but I've been fighting the process as well. I'm just forty-seven years old and most of the time my self-image is that of someone who hasn't quite gotten to thirty yet. I don't feel like someone who is ready for the nursing home. And then I run into a stretch of time when I can't dress or feed myself, and I feel so effing helpless.
Contrary to what may seem to be the overall tone of this posting, my spirits are pretty high for the most part. As far as I can, I've been a pretty active participant in this life of mine, and I've been able to maintain some sense of usefulness. When I can, I've been picking some of the low-hanging fruit on the Notes and Domino 6 & 7 Forum (although I would rather be taking on the bigger problems), and I still have little trouble finding people to work with who are worse off than I am in the wider world. It's getting a little harder, though, since I can no longer really make any commitments to be anywhere or do anything in the future. Life really has become a one day at a time affair, so I have to do what I can right now since there may not be a chance later.