If I kiss you where it's sore...
The plague is letting up, I'm feeling better. Sort of.
Not back to 100% yet, though. Just well enough to be frustrated and stir crazy. Just well enough to think about things again. Not well enough to work out or see people or get really involved in, really distracted by anything. For a little bit there the major ambit of my thoughts and feelings was constrained to my physical body and how utterly wretched it felt. Not so much anymore. Mixed blessings. (The only kind?)
It's bright in the morning now, which is amazing, but also cold. Walked to work this morning without a hat. Wow, was that a mistake. 23° with windchill to 14°. My ears are just now getting their feeling back. I will be buying a hat before I walk home.
And... I wouldn't have written that if mom was reading. She'd worry. She'd call to ask why I didn't have a hat and remind me about hats she had provided in the past. Then she'd send a hat. Or not, depending on the day. But I wouldn't have written it, knowing she would read it.
It just keeps coming up. She's not paying attention. She doesn't have an opinion. She's not going to react to... Well, anything, really. Dirigible plums. Riots in Egypt. Metalic glass. She doesn't have a reaction to these things.
Or to anything I do, ever again.
That's very different. I am only just beginning to have any idea what it means, for or about anything.
Not back to 100% yet, though. Just well enough to be frustrated and stir crazy. Just well enough to think about things again. Not well enough to work out or see people or get really involved in, really distracted by anything. For a little bit there the major ambit of my thoughts and feelings was constrained to my physical body and how utterly wretched it felt. Not so much anymore. Mixed blessings. (The only kind?)
It's bright in the morning now, which is amazing, but also cold. Walked to work this morning without a hat. Wow, was that a mistake. 23° with windchill to 14°. My ears are just now getting their feeling back. I will be buying a hat before I walk home.
And... I wouldn't have written that if mom was reading. She'd worry. She'd call to ask why I didn't have a hat and remind me about hats she had provided in the past. Then she'd send a hat. Or not, depending on the day. But I wouldn't have written it, knowing she would read it.
It just keeps coming up. She's not paying attention. She doesn't have an opinion. She's not going to react to... Well, anything, really. Dirigible plums. Riots in Egypt. Metalic glass. She doesn't have a reaction to these things.
Or to anything I do, ever again.
That's very different. I am only just beginning to have any idea what it means, for or about anything.