This must be a record, 3 posts and I managed to get sick with, as yet, some unidentified ailment.
I'm multi-drug allergic so I'm currently taking sulphur tablets which have me crawling along the walls. I hate being ill because I was for so long but when I was divorced I picked up healthwise. I don't like being in pain and definitely not ill and in pain.
I don't know how people going through chemo or other painful treatments can actually keep a diary of how they're feeling and what's going on around them. When I really feel crook, there's nothing like planning the music for the funeral, hoping that I have one friend left who'll turn up and ways to come back and haunt anybody who puts Banksias or Proteas (I hate them) on my environment-friendly coffin.
I pick out a few old favourites to read so I don't have to think too much. It must be the doom in me that goes to Patricia Cornwell or Clive Cussler. Good old Dr. Kay makes me feel inadequate when I'm well, cutting up 10 cadavers during the day and home making Italian food for 16 at night. Then we have Dirk Pitt getting various bits of him burned, beaten or broken and still walking away on the last page.
This is the first time I've been able to turn on the computer for a week. Any longer and the withdrawal symptons would truly be horrendous but now I'm heading back to snooze awhile with Dirk.