That's my boy!
Tired, today. The sort of thing where your eyes burn from the labor of just staying open, and when you blink, you let it linger. A wistful moment of rest, gone, just like that.
I called this morning for an appointment with the doctor, but I waited until after 9 to call and all of the slots for today were filled. For the most part, sickness doesn't bother me too much. We've escaped flu, and I can only remember once in my adult days when I ever felt too ill to function and carry out the day's duties. For the most part, if I am ill, it is only a minor inconvenience; an afterthought. I dread ingesting chemicals and concoctions called "medicine," I would much rather prefer the sort of natural medicine of a lying on the earth in the sunshine or embracing my babies. But this ickiness, cyclical coughing--voice loss--faucet nose thing hasn't ever really gone completely away over the past few months. It has subsided, but not vanished. This weekend it was worse again. Yesterday I could barely speak. I feel cheated, though--through it all I have never approached the kind of sickness where you lose your appetite (illness as weight loss mechanism). No, instead, I plug away at the YMCA with nowhere-near-peak lung capacity, not losing any weight. Where is the justice?
Ph, right--it's lying there in the corner with those Reese's Peanut Butter Cups wrappers.
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