FF

I gave it a name.
Every enemy needs a name
by which I can call it out,
recognize it for what it is,
and muster my own resources
to fight the bitter foe.
I call this one FF.
It's not nice, but
it wasn't meant to be,
and it certainly isn't polite.
That swearing habit of mine
is often unappreciated, but
for now, for this situation,
it works.
FF.
In my world that's
F'ing Fibromyalgia.
Bringer of pain.
Swelling, lack of sleep,
that crazy sensitivity
to heat that keeps me
stranded indoors
when I long to be out.
Funny red spots that
cover my swollen fingers.
And, something else.
Oh, of course, the loss
of memory thing that happens.
Short term memory.
What was I in this room for?
What time am I to be there?
Damn.
And there I am,
swearing again.
With all of this I'm grumpy.
And the mustering of resources
isn't easy.
By I do have them, and
call them up I will!
First, of course, is rest.
As little as I sleep,
I must at least rest.
And, baths.
Soaking in the old
claw-foot tub that was
my mother-in-law's.
What a gift to have it!
Air conditioning, too.
Staying cool helps.
Until I turn too cold.
Then a warm dog to cuddle with.
A nap next to a soft, warm dog,
even if I don't sleep.
Did I mention dropping things?
No, that fell to the memory problem
It's little things:
a pencil, a bar of soap,
a paint brush.
That makes it difficult to paint,
yet painting remains a
wonderful distraction.
Perhaps I can paint the pain.
And that would be a double joy.
Maybe painting pain would give me
a route to the more abstract expression
I've longed to find in my painting
as well as distract me for a while at least
from FF.
Every enemy needs a name.
FF is mine.