Weeks later and I am still sick. Coughing, voice gone, throat shredded. I hate feeling like this. When I was a kid, getting sick meant staying home from school and watching TV. Now it means terror of not making a mortgage payment because no work = no pay. Everything has been pushed off to the side because I can’t stay focused for very long. When I can’t edit something for myself, the spirit gets crushed under the weight. My dreams are a combination of anxiety and fever dreams that are mundane activities in constant repeat all night, making the waking hours seem exhausting and futile.
We’ve gone from warm sunny weather to snow in 48 hours. I cannot wait until it starts staying warm consistently. The sunlight and energy levels all rise, as well as creativity. I have several small shoots to think about and then a much larger ambitious narrative piece to do.
Damn coughing! I feel miserable and the lack of editing and writing sink that feeling further. I really wish my immune system had not been compromised a few years ago. It makes everything worse. Decisions of the past will haunt me the rest of my life.
“You said you’d never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He’s not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?”
– Bob Dylan