Hey, FuBu. She Likes It.

They may as well have called the sun a ball of flaming joy.--Terri Guillemets


I don't know who likes the warmth of the sun more: me or FuBu. On mornings when I write, I watch FuBu follow the sun patches in our living room and dining room. Wherever the sun splashes onto the carpet, you will find a zonked out black cat. She follows the light from mid-morning to early afternoon and I never hear her chastise herself.

She doesn't call herself lazy or unmotivated. She doesn't "should" on herself: "I know I should be downstairs, pouncing on the down comforter and chasing the escaping feathers." No. She is purrfectly content basking in the sun. I once read "Sunshine is the best Prozac." FuBu is a witness!

When I bought a long sought-after reading chair last Fall, I situated it right in line with the early morning rays. This is where I sit to do my neck stretches, write in my journal, drink coffee, and watch FuBu. Here, I listen to the birds, clear the cobwebs from my brain, scan my body, and assess my energy so I can plan my day accordingly.

As daylight savings time rolled around, I became grumpy and lethargic. All I wanted to do was eat and sleep. FuBu sought comfort by the heating vents and I was sliding under the comforter earlier and earlier in the evening.

"I was born to hibernate," I would tell Buddy, who had started calling me Cubby Bear and bringing trays of food to the bed.

By mid-November, Buddy started dropping hints about one particular present he had purchased for Christmas. "You're going to like it," he sang. "Its going to make you happy." (Emphasis on the happy.)

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"I'm not telling."

By Christmas morning, Buddy couldn't wait to place a big box in my lap. As I unwrapped it, I saw the word "Happy" and Buddy began jumping around singing: "A Happy Light makes a happy life."

He had bought a full-spectrum HappyLight panel by Verilux. Full-spectrum lights simulate healthy, natural light and signal your body's hormones to improve mood and fight fatigue. Bright light therapy is used to treat Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and is useful in treating fibromyalgia. It can help to reduce muscle pains, insomnia, fatigue, and mood disorders and depression.

(I am in no way a medical professional. If you want more information about this product, go to www.verilux.com)

I can tell you this: My HappyLight has been a lifesaver for me this month. We have had approximately 21 days of rain in March. That's Seattle proportion! Many-a-morning, it was the promise of 10,000 lux that enticed me out of bed in time to stretch and write in my reading chair. Now I have a window to the right of me and the HappyLight to the left of me. And where is FuBu? Spread out her full length on the arm of the chair, right in front of the light. Sunbathing. I don't know who enjoys the HappyLight more: me or FuBu.

Frankly, I Don't Give A *$%!!

I recently found myself in the awkward position of trying to explain to someone near and dear to me why it was I was unwilling to commit to an engagement three weeks ahead of time. She would not accept my "no" but rather adamantly advanced her agenda--that of getting me to attend a meeting "that would change my life for the better."

Clearly she was not listening to me, hell-bent on racking up points for netting a new member for her organization du jour. But in all fairness, I accept some of the responsibility for our frustrating conversation. Perhaps I was not speaking clearly. Maybe I was being too diplomatic. But in all honesty, I was afraid to out myself as a fibromyalgia sufferer.

I was too embarrassed to admit that I function on finite energy and when all the energy I have on any given day is spent, I have no reserve from which to borrow. I was too much of a coward to acknowledge that the daily pain with which I live requires my best energy to manage. I was too proud to acknowledge that the overachieving, success-driven, self-actualizing woman she once knew had retired her superwoman tights and cape long ago. Now my favorite outfits consist of silk pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and a heating pad.

I didn't tell her that I'd rather spend time listening to birds sing or the ocean roar than listening to a motivational speaker pump up an audience; that I'd much rather spend a quiet evening laughing and talking with her than sharing the details of my life with a bunch of people I do not know. I did not tell her, "Frankly, I'm not looking for new friends, new projects, or new inspiration," though I wish I had.

Indeed, I wish I had told her,"If you really want to help improve my life, come on over and finish bringing in the groceries from my car. Better yet, offer to go grocery shopping for me!
Take the overdue books back to the library. Maybe you could bend down and pick up the shells that FuBu knocked off my desk. Would you be willing to brush Mookie's coat? How about vacuuming the carpet for me? You want to help improve my life? Gift me with a weekly maasage for a month. I'm pretty sure that would provide a tangible improvement to the quality of my life."

At 3:00 in the morning, I regretted that I had not said any of those things. But in the light of the day, I realized: Why expend the energy? She wasn't listening anyway.

Moving to the Beat of a Different Drummer

"If a man loses pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured, or far away. " --Henry David Thoreau

 Or...perhaps she has fibromyalgia and just can't move as quickly as everyone else.

Perhaps she aches so much that on some days she can't move at all.

Perhaps she is so fatigued that she can't even hear the music.

Or...perhaps her fibro fog is so thick she can't  distinguish the beat.


We fibromyalgia sufferers are not lazy, we are not party-poopers, we are not hypochondriacs.

We are brave people who are dealing with a poorly understood illness.

We are trying to live our lives as fully as possible on a limited amount of energy per day.

Sometimes it really helps when our companions are willing to slow down and move to the beat of our drummer.