I’m feeling scraggly and weak, and it makes me wonder if there might be a cold atop depression’s physical effects upon my body. I know that my husband is feeling queasy and unwell, so there’s a chance of that within me as well. Not that it matters much in the scheme of things, other than being able to class x and y into its ‘correct’ boxes; being able to do that doesn’t change the fact that I feel weak and tired and gross and leaden. It’s all over and through the body too — I’d hoped to work on my crochet, but my hands aren’t doing the right things. Lame? Totally.
I also, emphatically, do not want next week to come. It’s going to be a busy one, and while it will probably delight and distract my mind once I’m in the midst of it, I’m feeling exhausted and gibbery at this juncture. The urge to isolate and cry is a strong one, though I continue to thank whatever deity might be listening that I continue to mainly win over that impulse. I’m not sure how outside of rote and stubbornness, but if that’s still sort of working… well, thanks for sort of working.
Anyways, back to being a slug.
Soup — No Comments