My body feels a bit like it’s made of clouds. 
I spent the past week in something just east of agony. I believe it’s lyme disease, but I suppose we’ll see once the blood tests come back. 

It felt like my whole body was being wrung out, squeezed in a giant fist, forty years older, full of sand, pinched all over. It was not a pleasant experience. I felt used up, and I had a hard time sleeping. Every single thing was a massive effort, from standing to picking up roby, to moving forward, to sitting.

It wasn’t so bad, taken in and of itself. At first I thought it was just from over exertion, just a soreness from working too hard and if that were the case, and it were a mere rough recovery, that would have been fine. It was at the dawn of week two that something seemed turly amiss. It seemed like maybe it wasn’t going to go away. All illness has a thread of that horrible thought: what if this is just my life now?

It has that thought because ultimately some sort of illness will be our final state, and that’s pretty rough.

I went to the doctor, they gave me a pill, I went to bed in anguish and I woke up like I was a fresh baby who went to sleep on a cloud, it was incredible after a near fortnight of not being capable of comfort.

It’s possible that the discomfort will come back after I’ve gone through my TWENTY EIGHT days of antibiotics, my second, albeit much longer, round this summer. But that’s a bride I’ll cross when I come to it.

Meanwhile I already forget what it feels like to be uncomfortable.