Fibromyalgia flares don't lay me low very often (I most often work through them) but I think it's the combination of the "pretend" bed I'm sleeping on in the boat with the extended sitting I'm doing in an equally uncomfortable seat in the extremely small galley. It's not like I'm not being active at all. The boat is on the dock that is farthest from the marina entrance (and hence the restrooms, showers, and laundry facilities) and each round trip is 1/3 mile.
I've done some writing and numerous interviews, but my mind is numbed by the pain in my body and all I want to do is surf the net, imagine myself paddling around the marina in a sea kayak or sailing in San Diego Bay. Imagine. Not happening right now.
So I'm listening to Elphaba but I'm thinking of Mercy Street.
There in the midst of it, so alive and alone,
words support like bone
. . . . Anne, with her father is out in the boat
riding the water
riding the waves on the sea