Its late evening and my bloody tooth has started hurting. Right on schedule. I dunno, what makes things that are going to hurt all kick in at 11 oclock at night? Maybe it's because it would be hard to destroy a good night's sleep if it happened in the daytime instead? **shrug**

Anyway, I have spent my evening having a delightful conversation via MSN with my friend Lynette who also has MS. She's a bit of a fiesty wee thing, but not as vindictive as I have so recently become.

Although, she does live by the motto "Don't get mad, get even", so she's cool.

We were discussing the difference between how we perceive our changes and our needs, and how those out in the real world do the same. We came to the conclusion that nobody even notices how different Life is, what things we can't do. Or understands how we feel about our losses, big and small, missing out on things we once relied on or enjoyed.

Mine is a simple one really. It's walking along a wild and stormy beach in driving rain with the waves crashing just a few feet away. Sort of like walking inside a huge energy drink.

Repower.

Empower.

I can't do that any more and no one even realises that I miss it.

I tried to educate people about my issues as we encountered them, but people dont often want to know whats really happening. The seeds of isolation are sown the day you tell the first person "Im sick, I have MS" and you know they have found fertile ground the first time you hear "but you can't have, you look so good!" If Nature abhors a vacuum, so Society abhors anyone who does not conform and that includes creating a requirement to think the unthinkable, comprehend the incomprehensible, feel the intangible and reach for the unattainable.

As a person, and more specifically as a woman with MS, I live in hope of a little fairness, a little security, a little happiness and a lot of truth. And to be accepted for the person I am now as well as loved for the one I used to be. I'm not the only one to carry small hopes in my heart.

To compensate for not having those things in our lives, I guess everyone finds some other way of expressing themselves - some paint, some make crafts or arrange flowers, some sculpt, some do volunteer work as and when they are able. You are reading my version right now. I write for others to read, I manipulate images to achieve a personally pleasing and publicly acceptable display. It's an overwhelming inner urge sometimes, to get out of bed and write a blog entry, compose a poem or open a photo and craft it into something that is uniquely my own, yet I cant actually draw for shit.

Probably just as well, or you'd have those in your face as well :-D

I think I'll have to get cosy with the clove oil again in a minute. That might lead me to compose some new expletives for inclusion in the next Oxford dictionary. I'll post them here so you can say that you saw them first.

"Mahatma Gandhi, walked barefoot his whole life which created large calluses on his feet. He also ate sparingly, which made him very frail and he suffered from bad breath.

This made him what?

A super callused, fragile mystic, hexed with halitosis."

Eh? You think that was bad? I got worse ones than that to unleash upon you. Wait your patience, all in due course.