I didn’t get around to writing this morning. I slept in late and even now in the late in the afternoon I am still walking around in a cotton world. The fatigue days are draining me, and I am in full blown ennui. But I remain optimistic that we are on the right track of recovery now. I am reduced to writing small sentences. Compound sentences are just beyond my reach in this state of mind.
Our satellite box went out during the lightening storm, so while we are waiting for FedEx to deliver a new one, the house has been noticeably quiet. That is good, because the incessant rehashing of the Uvalde shooting and ‘Beto, the plastic Mexican and political opportunist, started dancing on the children’s graves before their bodies had time to cool. I don’t have to watch the video clips of it, so that calms my mood considerably
And I still don’t know what is going on in the Depp – Heard courtroom, as hard as the media tries to inform me. I simply don’t want to know, and I tune it out on the TV and skip over it in the NewsFeeds.
And a new Top Gun movie is in the works, with many of the original cast members. They had to make their pants larger to hide the Depends® they are likely wearing at this time of life. Oh, how I care about this one. yawn!
About the only thing I watched in the news was the Sussman – Durham trial. I am following it out of idle curiosity to see whether I can believe in the justice system or not. I am not overly optimistic about that, however.
I do feel a bit better now that I am writing something. Anything will do. Just to sit here and watch the words come off my fingertips like magic is a balm that has been sorely missed. I am so aware of how badly the dyslexia has crept up on me, and being out of the discipline for around three years has taken the edge off of my prose. I am embarrassed by my poor syntax, style, and grammar. Mrs. Gilder, my 6th grade teacher, would be frowning at this as she toyed with her editing pencil that had a red end and a blue end. Yeah, I am that old.
Still, I write. My thoughts run wild during that waking period between the sleeps. An old manuscript that I started æons ago optimistically called Akashic is haunting me, and I suddenly saw a way to bring back a runaway novel back into order. But it is a major rewrite and will take a year or better to whip it into shape. At least with the energy level I have now, anyway. The year has sailed by me, only punctuated by stays in the hospital and weeks of fatigue at home. Sometimes I feel like I am just waiting for Thanatos knock at the door. But as I sit down to write this unedited bundle of me-isms, he has stopped knocking and has moved back to his lurking position over my left shoulder.
So, this coffee post has turned into an after-dinner post but may not be the tragedy I expected. A strawberry-rhubarb pie is baking in the oven, and we will have pie and coffee in an hour as an evening snack. And this seems as good of a place to wrap this up as any.