I have been awake about 10 of the last 48 hours, and regretted even that much. I have recovered from this stomach bug enough now to just feel like I was kicked in the stomach by an angry mule, but not actively vomiting. Wheeee.
Which means Keely and I got back on schedule-ish, with getting out the door by 6am for a walk around Lake Ella. I went slowly so Keely very much enjoyed taking her time to sniff-test everything.
It was a beautifully clear sky as it always is after a day of stormy weather, with just a hint of dawn peeking up over the horizon. It was cool enough not to be humid, also a favorite. The trees look dark and ominous against that kind of sky, and it does have the distinct feeling of there being a “ceiling to the world.”
It’s in moments like this, I believe, our greatest myth were born.
I scroll through all the stories in my head — I have four to ten going at any one time, which sounds confusing, but isn’t. I might write one down, or half of one. I wonder how many fully fledged stories I have entertained and then let fly out of my head over the years. Thousands, probably.
I hear that there are people who lack the imaginative impulse but that is something I will never truly understand, given that for me it rides the razor’s edge between blessing and curse.
But this morning was especially haphazard in my brain. Sometimes I think Keely’s leash is there to keep me tethered to the world around me.
Recovery is always a bitch, something I forget until I am in recovery from some illness like this. Being sick is just fucking exhausting and I have to give all my props to people who deal with chronic illnesses/conditions because that shit weighs you down. Even walking around the park took strength of will.
Back to the saltines and gatorade for me.