I’ve been up late several nights in a row now, updating my eBook whilst blogging on home safety for my new company:  Two Step Solutions LLC.  While that may appear wildly productive the timing is just too odd for it to actually be that way for me.  I am discovering a few unusual things as I examine this new work, this current blog that you are reading, and the tragedy of illness resistant to treatment.

First, my professional writing lacks clear focus.  I add too many words and the flow is not there.  Oh the subject matter gets covered yet it is not yet up to par.  The short articles I am putting out there are intended to build credibility in my profession and an audience for the time when I want to launch my home safety product.  Perhaps I need a check-n-balance system before publishing each piece?  Yes, something like that.

I am so very dry with ideas to write about that aren’t a re-hash of the saga, the illness.  Sure, I have tried to end each blog with something reflective, insightful, Biblical, creative, humorous or otherwise useful.  It is simply getting harder to do so when the head-banging that accompanies convulsive episodes goes on FOR HOURS EVERY DAY!  You have heard about all of the test results pending.  I continuously try new treatments that make sense to me.  The outcomes continue to be disastrous.  Sure there is hope on the horizon.  But for now it is AWOL!

And if a test showed a particular course of treatment that worked, one could be encouraged as he or she ingested/applied/bathed/drank/swallowed it.  As for me, hundreds of remedies, diets, treatments, scans, procedures, therapies, adjustments later . . . I am discouraged.  Tens of thousands of dollars later . . . I am discouraged.  Moving about while beat up on 3 hours of sleep is virtually impossible yet I was called to do it today anyways.  My will has tanked.  Yes, I am broken and discouraged.

Lost in space.  There is no real sense of time here.  It comes and it goes with little of meaning to measure it by.  The foam in our bed is permanently dented in both places from my dwelling there.  Steve and I pray.  I cry a lot.  I hear that others pray out there somewhere and yet do not contact me anymore.  I am invisible for the most part.  And that’s just how it goes when you have dropped out of life for a few years.  Even blue jeans from Walmart start looking good when I can finally get out of the house on Wednesdays.  Eeeek!  I am an Eddie Bauer gal dontcha know?

I probably should not publish this.  Well stay tuned.  I am bound to bump into some kind of life eventually, eh?  JJ