Sunday Evening Post Iss. 23


Healing is exhausting.

I am tired all the time and everything is swollen. I can’t make it through a whole day without taking a nap every 4-6 hours and when I wake up, I can’t remember what day it is. When I’m awake, I can’t focus so I’m not getting things done like I need to, which causes me more stress and then I hurt more.

I haven’t felt like myself in so long I don’t remember who I used to be. All I know is that right now, I can’t think beyond “everything is itchy” and “don’t spill the water as you lie in bed with your feet elevated”.

Portion 2 registration is open, so I know I got that done at some point but Cindy and I missed our traditional “open registration shots”. I’m not superstitious in general but this is a pretty big deal. That said, it didn’t seem to work last Portion so who knows, maybe the shot is a preemptive strike.

As a final nail in the coffin of this shit-tastic week, my favorite fish died last night. He was old but for the 15 months I had him, he was the friendliest, most personable Dwarf Gourami ever. RIP Wash, you’re my leaf on the wind.

Fiction projects: ---

Fiction words this week: ---

About the Author: Theresa Green is the co-founder of The Writer's Workout and a crime fiction writer.

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