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serynI finally figured out what bothers me so much about "The Spoon Theory". It's the spoons. I kept getting stuck on it being spoons. You can force it to make sense because a spoon holds a small amount and how you hold the handle affects how much use the spoon will be at holding that quantity, but it's still a dinglehopper*.
*dinglehopper is the name Sebastian the crab gives Ariel for a fork in The Little Mermaid. There is an iconic image of Ariel using it to comb her hair. I use it when someone picks up a found object, gives it a new name, and convinces nubes to use it for a stupid/unintentional purpose.
If it had been a set of apothecary bottles, that would have made just as much sense, despite being unapproachable to the lay person and not something that could have been used in the charade of the original Spoons story.
Some of my problem is that spoons generally don't sit flat so contents stay in the bowl. But if you hold them, it's one spoon at a time or you lose all the contents anyway. Then some of my problem is who carries around a pound of extra metal when they're too sick and tired to live normally.
I also hate the intolerance that healthy people have no problems. I realize it's not the same thing as having a catastrophic illness, but we all have days when there are ten thousand long-tine forks when all you need is a spoon. You can have the full complement of silverware and most of it's in the dishwasher encrusted with last week's meals. Or you can be looking at the last thing in the drawer and it's a salad fork from the cheap Oneida sets where it's got the diamond cut-out... while you're holding a bottle of cough syrup.
Lately I've been feeling like, if the spoon theory was accurate, that mine were all sporks. No matter how hard I tried, things were falling out and dribbling on the last clean shirt. Does that mean I'm sick enough to qualify? Even if you can't see it? Is there some sort of temporary disability pass that the internets and friends and people on the street grant? Or is the whole point of this to have excusable illnesses for some people, so everyone can blame me for being lucky enough to only have serious catastrophic problems happen to loved ones around me while I stay "well".
It's not that I don't have sympathy for complete strangers I don't know who have a life-altering issue. It's not that I don't feel for virtual friends who are struggling. It's just that today I'm really really really really really really (times 4 thousand) upset because things have been horrible and I get email from "friends" saying (in response to my saying what was going on, no I can't go to lunch, maybe not ever), "You're lucky you don't have a job, and with how hysterical you are it's no wonder you can't work."
Do you think we could all get together and use some of our spoons like Alan Rickman's character in Robin Hood Prince Of Thieves? I'll stop bitching about spoons being a stupid but happenstantial choice of prop if we can use them to carve out the hearts of moronic people so it hurts more.
But I still think the analogy would make more sense if it was conveyed with "Everyone has 12 bottles they store their daily energy in." When you're sick, your bottles aren't 2-liters or gallon jugs with the convenient handles, you've got a can of soda... once you pop the lid that whole container is gone. And the other bottles are vanilla or salad dressing or the green liquid with the floaty bits left in the jar of pickles... so you don't even get the whole jar's worth of energy. --- I think this is a better analogy because it recognizes that other people do have limitations even if comparatively they seem like more than the sick person could ever need. It also conveys that some days it looks like other people have a lot of resources but their containers can be nearly empty without being obvious. Since the point of the original poster was to talk about what it's like to be sick without looking sick, I think we should include something where it shows how that could still fit into the explanation.
For me, having someone close to me be ill was like having a hole punched in the largest containers and losing all the lids so when I jogged to move fast enough to do the tasks of me myself and I (I was like three people and I didn't sleep even 4 hours a night for more than 2 weeks.) all the energy I had tried to save up just fell away uselessly.
I called it White Rabbit syndrome. From Alice In Wonderland. Where the White Rabbit jumps around and shouts that he's late he's late he's late. But all that jumping around isn't getting him anywhere. I kept doing that. I'd jump back up again whenever I sat anywhere because I was convinced there was somewhere else I needed to be. I couldn't ever rest. And when I was sitting somewhere, I was emailing status reports, calling people who needed to be kept informed, and trying to remember what 7 things I was supposed to have done 2 days ago and the dozen left from yesterday.
*dinglehopper is the name Sebastian the crab gives Ariel for a fork in The Little Mermaid. There is an iconic image of Ariel using it to comb her hair. I use it when someone picks up a found object, gives it a new name, and convinces nubes to use it for a stupid/unintentional purpose.
If it had been a set of apothecary bottles, that would have made just as much sense, despite being unapproachable to the lay person and not something that could have been used in the charade of the original Spoons story.
Some of my problem is that spoons generally don't sit flat so contents stay in the bowl. But if you hold them, it's one spoon at a time or you lose all the contents anyway. Then some of my problem is who carries around a pound of extra metal when they're too sick and tired to live normally.
I also hate the intolerance that healthy people have no problems. I realize it's not the same thing as having a catastrophic illness, but we all have days when there are ten thousand long-tine forks when all you need is a spoon. You can have the full complement of silverware and most of it's in the dishwasher encrusted with last week's meals. Or you can be looking at the last thing in the drawer and it's a salad fork from the cheap Oneida sets where it's got the diamond cut-out... while you're holding a bottle of cough syrup.
Lately I've been feeling like, if the spoon theory was accurate, that mine were all sporks. No matter how hard I tried, things were falling out and dribbling on the last clean shirt. Does that mean I'm sick enough to qualify? Even if you can't see it? Is there some sort of temporary disability pass that the internets and friends and people on the street grant? Or is the whole point of this to have excusable illnesses for some people, so everyone can blame me for being lucky enough to only have serious catastrophic problems happen to loved ones around me while I stay "well".
It's not that I don't have sympathy for complete strangers I don't know who have a life-altering issue. It's not that I don't feel for virtual friends who are struggling. It's just that today I'm really really really really really really (times 4 thousand) upset because things have been horrible and I get email from "friends" saying (in response to my saying what was going on, no I can't go to lunch, maybe not ever), "You're lucky you don't have a job, and with how hysterical you are it's no wonder you can't work."
Do you think we could all get together and use some of our spoons like Alan Rickman's character in Robin Hood Prince Of Thieves? I'll stop bitching about spoons being a stupid but happenstantial choice of prop if we can use them to carve out the hearts of moronic people so it hurts more.
But I still think the analogy would make more sense if it was conveyed with "Everyone has 12 bottles they store their daily energy in." When you're sick, your bottles aren't 2-liters or gallon jugs with the convenient handles, you've got a can of soda... once you pop the lid that whole container is gone. And the other bottles are vanilla or salad dressing or the green liquid with the floaty bits left in the jar of pickles... so you don't even get the whole jar's worth of energy. --- I think this is a better analogy because it recognizes that other people do have limitations even if comparatively they seem like more than the sick person could ever need. It also conveys that some days it looks like other people have a lot of resources but their containers can be nearly empty without being obvious. Since the point of the original poster was to talk about what it's like to be sick without looking sick, I think we should include something where it shows how that could still fit into the explanation.
For me, having someone close to me be ill was like having a hole punched in the largest containers and losing all the lids so when I jogged to move fast enough to do the tasks of me myself and I (I was like three people and I didn't sleep even 4 hours a night for more than 2 weeks.) all the energy I had tried to save up just fell away uselessly.
I called it White Rabbit syndrome. From Alice In Wonderland. Where the White Rabbit jumps around and shouts that he's late he's late he's late. But all that jumping around isn't getting him anywhere. I kept doing that. I'd jump back up again whenever I sat anywhere because I was convinced there was somewhere else I needed to be. I couldn't ever rest. And when I was sitting somewhere, I was emailing status reports, calling people who needed to be kept informed, and trying to remember what 7 things I was supposed to have done 2 days ago and the dozen left from yesterday.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-14 05:21 am (UTC)Keep eating!