I want to write a post, but my hands are very tingly.
I have to do bloodwork for my doctor appointment. So it was a 12-hour fast, which I haven’t quite reached the end of, yet.
So I can’t write, can’t eat, can’t even drink my coffee. All I can have is plain water and my meds.
I know, I’m a baby. It’s 12 hours, it’s not that bad. I slept through most of it, and I’m almost done.
I just hate having my morning coffee ritual disrupted. And I’m typing very slowly and making a lot of errors.
I accidentally woke up Desmond by checking on him. He was all covered in blankets; I just wanted to make sure he was under there. So now he’s down here with me, watching his show.
My hands hurt. My back hurts. My tongue hurts. I’m a hot mess.
Believe it or not, I didn’t start this post to whine about my ailments. I thought it might be a good distraction from them. Epic fail.
It’s true I don’t really have anything new to report, though. I’ve said it all.
No exciting weekend plans. I just want to relax. Even with restrictions, I’m not working any less hard, and I’m still on my feet all day.
It’s always something, I guess, in your 40s. Last summer it was severe constipation. This year, COVID, carpal, and tongue trauma. It’ll get better…right?