Just thought I’d share an observation about my day as a stroke survivor because I find it quite astounding in a pedestrian way.
Any one of these states can shift into focus throughout the day, and I think it astounding that in twelve hours or so of my day, I get through the seasonal sensations of a year. Before stroke, days would just pass, some more forgettable than others. I certainly didn’t have to get through a whole day, but after stroke, for almost six years now, I do. Well, I can say I am truly now paying attention to the passing of time and living the most out of each day, not living the most out of it in the sense of carp diem, but I sure am sucking the marrow out of life because I seem to have no choice but to.
In this analogy, I am trying to avoid the cliches of season, as I enjoy every season for what it brings, but just picturing my day filled with the process of each season according to myself.
This is not necessarily in chronological order, the pattern changes day to day and some days there is no change at all, but most days it’s like this …
Feel droopy, like I could drop at anytime. Feel as if my body is going to pack it in. No motivation, not by choice, but brain 
refuses to activate, it creaks and grinds, and a headache sets in. Symptoms are borderline oppressive, dragging my mind along each minute that passes.
Feel incredibly good, symptoms are minor, energy levels are whipped into a frenzy. Stroke? What stroke? Have I turned a corner? Brain is alert, feel refreshed and stimulated.
Feel closed down and dormant. Moving about is painful, seeing is painful. Can’t walk too far, too wobbly and disorientated. Head buzzes and fizzes, nervous system feels cramped and mind huffs and puffs throughout each thought that waits for the pain to lift.
Zoned out and slow. Symptoms absorbed by passive distractions; telly, bath, music, conversation, company, tasks. Symptoms bearable but not brilliant. Condition has me reclining in chairs, on couches and in bed. Brain is exhausted but manages to plod on regardless.
