Yuck

I woke up cranky and my body, particularly my lungs, feels cranky, too. The medicines that chronically ill people take cause all sorts of out of sorts bodies. Feeling well takes a delicate balance. One small change causes the whole load to shift dangerously. Sometimes the mind joins in to shove the whole kit and caboodle over the edge. I am not there yet, but moving cautiously.

My apartment shows signs of my mood. Right now I do not find joy in cleaning the litterbox or washing dishes. Pogo and Satchmo irritate me with their whines for food. Routine drives cats and they let me know if I fail to follow theirs. My bad, boys.

Right now I am at the point I just don't. I don't go out, don't clean, don't anything. I hope to get a little push to get me going again. Connie tries hard to nudge me. Her life holds enough complications without adding more of mine. She calls or asks me to run errands almost every day when she could be at home herself, resting.

* * *

Dude, this one's for you.

Later.