We now have storms with names in the UK. Abigail didn't bother us too much, but Barney ... he was wild. And my brain is full of fog.
I do quite a taxing voluntary job. The thing I find most difficult is that cases involving benefits, housing, money, debt etc. etc. really need to be wound up on the day. I never was the sharpest knife in the cutlery draw when it comes to such things, but when it's getting late and I've still got loads to do I sometimes tend to think that PsA isn't helping.
So yesterday I did something I've not done before and stated the bald facts as I saw them: "my brain has stopped working. I cannot do this. I need to go home."
Got home okay despite Barney to find the house lit up by candles, a power cut. Ate, conked out. Woke up long enough to mention that it was weird I was so tired and my husband stated the bald facts as he saw them: "it's the disease."
It is the disease. It's so long since I've had swelling or persistent pain, but I do now. My rheumy found some of the swelling because I've got out of the habit of looking. I am knackered. I'm not used to flares or wotnot so I need to keep the faith that things will improve again. For various reasons a change of meds is not on the cards at the moment so it's wait and see time.
I love storms but I hate fog.