I love to read, and I’ve always loved reading. Even as a child, I loved books. I wrote my own, and I voraciously devoured (and redevoured) borrowed books from the library. When I was transferring to yet another new school as a child, my mom would take me on a tour of the school library as a way to win me over. I vividly remember touring the first grade library: the brightness of the blue globe sitting atop the end of a shelf and the seemingly endless shelves of books waiting for me to savor them word by word building up to sentences, paragraphs, and then whole worlds awaiting discovery. Yes, I was hooked.
I know today was hard for you. In fact, the last several days have been hard for you. You’ve been achier than normal and so fuzzy around the edges you’ve wondered if you’ve become rather like a kiwi, a layer of fuzz and a thin skin with ideas like the scattered small seeds inside. You’ve struggled to track conversations and to remember the ingredients you’re looking for moments after you read the list. You’ve been so, so tired that each task seems to require a wellspring of strength and focus that you’re not sure you have. Fibromyalgia is awful thing, and some days the struggle is worse than others. Valentine’s Day was particularly hard for you.
And yet you overcame.