Worst?

 My symptoms were engaged in a perverse battle royal last week to see what was the crappiest  crap I have to deal with. And the battle continues to  rage.

It started with depression over my hearing and how I can’t really take part in dinners with more than one person unless someone talks specifically to me, which defeats the purpose of big dinners.

This was followed by continence issues and problems pooping (or lack thereof).

All of this was made worse by a newish symptom. My hands and feet have, for years, had no temperature regulation, getting cold when it’s 70 out. About mid-summer, the rest to my body thought, “That looks fun, but let’s mix it up.” Now part of me gets hope — I swear I am sweating — but other parts are cold. It makes bedtime fun — I have to cover one part but uncover another. 

Finally, speaking of bed, my restless legs have been bad and keeping me awake hours longer than normal.

So what’s worst? How about Friedreich's ataxia?

A writer?

 My oldest sister, when I related earlier how much difficulty I was having writing blogs — not for lack of ideas or because I didn’t know how to say something but because the physical act of typing overwhelmed me —  wrote that I’d figure it  out because I was a writer. 

I am not sure I will figure it out, and if doing so is required as a writer, I probably am no writer.

I find it taking longer and longer to write. Even then I still have  errors.

It takes me so long. I write what  I want to say  in advance in my head. Then when typing it out, I leave out things I thought to say but will take too long.

I had a riff on dictation software not being for me because 80% of the time Siri responds to my request to call not by  saying, “To who?” We’ll ignore her bad grammar. Instead she says, “Really? I always wanted to be cool?” But the riff was too long.

Friedreich's ataxia robs one of so so much.