Little Things

Photo purely for decoration. This is Florence.

When I'm low on spoons, it's the tiny little things that are hard. This week I'm low on spoons. The end of the school year, the end of my 11 year old's time in his amazing Autism Resource in primary school, school trips left right and centre, endless migraines.

So it's the smallest things that are hardest. Why? I don't know. I just made myself a cup of coffee, but I was almost out of skimmed milk. There's a new bottle of skimmed milk on the top shelf of the fridge, but getting it down and breaking the seal is just too much. Physically I could lift it down, I could break the seal - but mentally I can't. Mentally I'm unable to reach out and start a new thing, to move on from the old bottle to the new. I can walk into the kitchen, fill the kettle, get a mug, and put instant coffee in it. (Thank god I didn't have to open a new can. Sometimes I can't have coffee if I need to open a new packet, because it requires finding a packet, finding scissors, finding a peg to put on the open packet afterwards.) I can pour on the boiling water, open the fridge, add the milk. But I can't open that new bottle of milk. Sitting here, writing about it, I don't understand myself.

Outside, the rain is tumbling down. The world is irritating me, from the very large to the very small. The band of my fitbit, no tighter than usual, is cutting into my wrist so much I almost can't bear it - but I can't take it off because it won't track my steps, and I will feel as if I have no control over my day. The carpet before me is sprinkled with dirt, but cleaning it would require going and getting the vacuum cleaner from where it lives, attaching the tubes, plugging it in, and exposing myself to that awful drone. I can't do it.

My bra strap is irritating me. My dressing gown is irritating me. I lack the ability to go and change my clothes. It's not laziness. It's a kind of mental paralysis that perhaps you can't understand if you haven't experienced it. My hair is irritating me. I've managed to brush it, after a week, but it's still catching on the chair behind me. I'm more likely to throw something than move the thing it's catching on. Why? Who knows.

But I can write a blog post. What's that all about? I have no way to explain why I can write a blog post but I can't open a new bottle of milk. Why I can write a blog post but I can't engage in online conversations. If I can't understand it, I don't know why anyone else should be able to. If you can't understand the reasoning, at least try to understand the effect.