(Regretfully), back to reality

After a fun filled weekend in Orlando and a great hiatus in Indiana, prior to two weeks of escape to the southern hemisphere (a first for me, I hope not to be overly mesmerised by the fact water spins differently in toilet bowls), I'm a little overwhelmed with the number of duties and activities filling these five days. I have at least two spreadsheets to initiate: one for a work project, one for an inventory to include household belongings potentially for sale or redistribution, and possibly one for tool and equipment inventory. If I complete a couple of these, I'll feel more comfortable with the rest of the week. I'm constantly reminded of the need to reduce stress in order to "relax" symptoms only to find "life" is synonymous with stress and continually rears its head as a reality to be dealt with. I'm not easily persuaded to relinquish responsibility- though I've moved steadily, begrudgedly toward curtained tranquility- finding my fight on two fronts as apposed to one.
The outside consensus seems to be that the very fight, the very battle mindset I hold so dear may be the instigator within me preventing progress against my disease. My natural reaction to an onslaught is to steel up, armor up and attack. I'm no pacifist. I know violence begets violence, but my situation indicates ALS cast the first stone. To me, if I turn the other cheek, I'm gonna get clocked. I know it's foolish to allow any opponent the first shot, but let's face it here- I got cold-cocked. I never saw this coming. Whether my lifestyle choices assembled the pieces to complete my ALS puzzle or not is inconsequential today. I won't take blame for my predicament. I won't lay blame for my predicament. If I point a finger at myself or others, I'm wasting time and energy looking backward. The bell has rung. My training throughout these last months has taken on a different tone. My stress level is lower. My mood is apprehensive yet hopeful. I'm loose. I see that feints and elusive movements will better service me than head butts and straight line aggression. Be warned though, simply chanting peace and love and heal does not negate my enemy. State of mind is important, and I must temper my temper with happy thoughts, ever mindful of the degeneration continuing each day within me. Simply closing my eyes will certainly leave me blind to the job at hand. I can only close one, with the other ever watchful and aware. This disease was established as an inside job. I close the one to see inward. I open the other to deal with every day life. Terms such as "think healing thoughts" make as much sense to me as "imagine imagination". While I believe thoughts are things, non specific thought has a non specific form, and I can't picture it. I need tangibility. I need specifics. I can, and have, reduced stress in my life, but the reality is, even if I lived in a Utopian society, ALS would represent a level of stress impossible to eliminate. The term "living with ALS" turns my stomach. The MDA and the ALS Association often use this phrase in their literature. To me it stinks of resignation. It implies that I have ALS, and I need to accept its course. The literature largely deals with management. Maintenance. Equipment. Eventually, a coffin. Until The ALS Association or the MDA dedicate a monthly to the (albeit few) success stories involving cured patients, their methods and their self-assessments, I have no use for them. Give me something new. Give me something different. If anyone out there associated with these guys is reading my blog, let it be known that if I were to be given a forum to express my angle on all this, I would extensively research my piece, limit it to a thousand words and gladly donate it for publication at no fee. Let's study the fringe. The mainstream wields blinders and has developed tunnel vision. Let's look around. Let's see the peripheral. Let's scan the outback. I need answers. I'm on a time line.