I feel terrible today.
I’m tired and sore.
I’m moving about a foot and a half a minute. When I’m lucky enough to be standing.
My brain is tired and keeps urging me to curl up into a tiny ball on my bed covered with a fuzzy blanket and watch just ridiculously mindless TV until I can close my eyes and sleep at a not completely unreasonable early bed time.
I am not doing this.
I am laying on my couch half covered by an afghan trying to accomplish my goal of writing something everyday.
I tend to write on days I feel okay about the days when I feel terrible. I don’t think this is what I should do.
I need/want to push past the fuzz in my brain and the weight of my eyes. To shake off the leadenness * of my limbs and bend the pain sore joints of my fingers to form the words tumbling around in my head.
On days like this I imagine my brain as a dark foggy gray forest running up to tall black jagged cliffs and thrashing crashing ocean.* Everything is just gray. And loud and heavy. And focusing on any one thing feels impossible.
Pulling words out of this sort of brain is difficult.
I have gone as far as I can today. Until tomorrow then.
* I think I’m going to start keeping track of words I make up. But definitely not today.
* Like this but not as pretty.