Human Barometers

I once told a friend I can feel the weather changing. His response, which is his basic response to everything, was "You're full of #$*@."

I do feel the weather changes. I can't tell you what it is going to do, but I can tell you the pattern is changing. I think this is pretty common for anyone with chronic pain. Joints swell, the rheumatism acts up, and old injuries throb.

I bring this up because this weather is making me crazy. After a bitterly cold, wet, and dismal spring, I greeted the beautiful weather last week with enthusiasm. I cleaned the porches on my vacation rental house, I washed the siding, I started cleaning up some of the flower beds, I finally got out for a ride on my bicycle, and I took an invigorating hike with my dogs.

Just as a snake's metabolism speeds up, I basked in the sun, relishing it's joint loosening warmth. When I wasn't exerting myself, I enjoyed a meal or read a book from my deck overlooking the lake. Dermatologists may chastise me, but nothing makes my body aches feel better than the warmth of the sun.

Although Friday was still a gorgeous day, I felt the low pressure system roll in as a stabbing pain right between my eyes. As the thunderstorms arrived that evening, the sinus headache abated. By Sunday it was pouring rain, in the 40s, and the lethargy struck.

Am I tired and lacking ambition because of the fibro, or am I just sick and tired of cold-cold rain in mid-May? My body isn't really aching much, but I am listless and bored. Even though I have a huge list of indoor things that I need to do, I am ready to slither back into my nest and go back into hibernation. I'd nap all day, but I don't even feel enthusiasm for that. To all my fellow human barometers, my sympathy goes out to you.