My MS symptoms, which started some eleven years ago in my feet and legs, prefer nowadays to roam about an area generally described by the triangular region of my upper back, shoulders, neck and head. Let's call it 'The Devil's Triangle'. Like the outlaw gang which periodically shows up to terrorize the frontier town, MS rides roughshod through the region, whooping and howling, guns blazing, tormenting one quiet hamlet on the plain and leaving behind ruin and destruction as it rides on to the next point of riot on that wild west stage, or simply returns for a time to its base camp, the box canyon just behind my right shoulder blade.
I note over the past few days that my eyesight has been the victim of the latest raid, as I am unable to read print on a screen--especially that on the screen on my iPhone. The letters just simply won't stand still, but each letter must mix with its neighbors, rendering words suspiciously like Arabic script. At the same time (and this is totally weird), I am suddenly able to see things clearly at a distance, which has not happened since I was about 12 or so. Yes, I'm sitting out in the yard this morning when I note that the clothes hangers on the distant clothesline are quite crisply distinct while the news stories on my Facebook page, seen close-up, are all in inscrutable Arabic!
Annoying, sure--but at the same time a blessing! How wonderful it is to see things faraway--my goodness, just look at the sharp green leaves on that tree, and the fact that there is a tree there! Who knew? And that little mouse that just ran under the washing machine. Ha! And he thought I couldn't see him! Thanks, MS!
Sometimes, the renegades will split into two riotous groups, simultaneously attacking one town in the west and one in the east--or in other words, my arms. Last night, for instance, it wasn't enough to kill one arm or the other, but both must die! So it happened that I awoke between two dead bodies. Who can this be who is in bed with me? Oh. It's just me.
Sadly, there is no Jimmy Stewart, no Rance Stoddard, in this drama, standing for law and justice; or, rather, there is, but there is no John Wayne, no Tom Doniphon, to protect him. There is no man who shot Liberty Valance. There is only Liberty Valence shooting me.
I note over the past few days that my eyesight has been the victim of the latest raid, as I am unable to read print on a screen--especially that on the screen on my iPhone. The letters just simply won't stand still, but each letter must mix with its neighbors, rendering words suspiciously like Arabic script. At the same time (and this is totally weird), I am suddenly able to see things clearly at a distance, which has not happened since I was about 12 or so. Yes, I'm sitting out in the yard this morning when I note that the clothes hangers on the distant clothesline are quite crisply distinct while the news stories on my Facebook page, seen close-up, are all in inscrutable Arabic!
Annoying, sure--but at the same time a blessing! How wonderful it is to see things faraway--my goodness, just look at the sharp green leaves on that tree, and the fact that there is a tree there! Who knew? And that little mouse that just ran under the washing machine. Ha! And he thought I couldn't see him! Thanks, MS!
Sometimes, the renegades will split into two riotous groups, simultaneously attacking one town in the west and one in the east--or in other words, my arms. Last night, for instance, it wasn't enough to kill one arm or the other, but both must die! So it happened that I awoke between two dead bodies. Who can this be who is in bed with me? Oh. It's just me.
Sadly, there is no Jimmy Stewart, no Rance Stoddard, in this drama, standing for law and justice; or, rather, there is, but there is no John Wayne, no Tom Doniphon, to protect him. There is no man who shot Liberty Valance. There is only Liberty Valence shooting me.
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