And I'm sick.
I swear. I keep thinking I'm done, I'm fine and then I just start feeling worse. I'm still sneezing some, still congested and my body aches and I'm so tired and I just feel so...defeated.
The words defeated me this morning and my walk defeated me too. I forced myself to go out and do it but every step felt painful and my feet weighed so much and gravity sucked so hard.
I came home and cleaned out the hens' nests and I needed a new bale of hay and when I went to pick it up, I almost toppled over. It defeated me.
The garden called to me to come and plant some lovely lettuces and peas in it. I could feel it wanting to receive the tiny peas, wrinkled and dry and wanting to let them fill out in the dark, damp dirt and send out the beautiful little pea shoots to climb the new fence. I measured the steps to the garden, to the house to get the seeds and I just couldn't do it. The sun was so warm and the birds were singing so sweetly but I just couldn't do it.
I came inside and put away laundry, ironed a few shirts and went to bed. I was defeated. And that's how I feel now. Just fucking defeated. Not depressed or anxious. Just tired. And oh yeah, sick. And maybe defeated.
I took a picture of a camellia too heavy for its tiny branch, its head hanging down towards the earth instead of up towards the sun. There was birdshit on the leaves. It looked how I felt and I thought to post it here but it wasn't in focus when I looked at it on the computer and I would go take another one but I don't have the energy.
I hate being this way. When I was a little girl, it seemed that my mother was always sick and I just hated that. I worried about her and bad things happened when she was in that dark room with the shades drawn or away at the hospital and I think I may have vowed never, ever to be sick, and mostly I've been able to keep that vow but this virus- it's got me and it's going to take its sweet time in letting go.
But it's spring and I can't be sick for long. Dammit! I have peas to plant and hay to tote and weeds to pull and words to write. I have words to write and I feel so bad when you come here expecting some wisdom or something to laugh about or something, well, good, and instead you find this mishmash of mind mutterings. Sick mind mutterings.
I'm not asking for sympathy so don't give me any, dammit! Just please bear with me.
It's spring, I'm sick, it'll still be spring tomorrow and maybe I'll feel better.
And you- don't you get sick! You hear me? I mean it.
Love...Ms. (cough-cough, sneeze-sneeze, whine-whine) Moon