On the mend
I hate this whole not-up-to-scratch stage of recovery. I feel hopelessly behind on stuff that needs to get done, and my tired mind cannot focus as it should. All of which leaves me surfing the net or dipping into old books on the shelves, aimlessly. And that leads to a kind of mild depression, a sort of "nothing's worth doing" feeling that makes the hours longer.
As far as physical recovery goes, I'm almost back to normal, though still regaining strength slowly.
I go to the doctor on Friday, and expect a good report.EDIT Much later:
I went to a bookstore today to try to lift my spirits. It only made things worse. Maybe it was mostly the exertion; on the other hand, it nearly made me weep to go through a giant Barnes & Noble all full of Christmas stuff and find almost nothing
I felt like reading.
On the way home, my down-ness turned to a general feeling of the Glass Being Half-Empty, which then turned to a savage resentment of a couple of individuals who seem to be particularly disappointing or thwarting me.
The problem with all this, of course, is there's nobody I can tell this to. To take this bitterness and dump it on the people I'm browned off at wouldn't clear the air, but merely burden our relationships: the problem is mine. And I could call a friend here or there to dump this on, but most of them would just tell me what the problem with me is, and how I'm not seeing things clearly, cheer up, yada yada yada. All of which I know
-- but which doesn't make the black mood go away. I don't want somebody to put a big ol' plaster on this envenomed wound, but to help me cut it open, suck out the poison and spit it out.
So until the dark heat burns itself out, I guess I'll just go hide and avoid other people. It means it all lasts longer than it should have to, but that's just tough.
All in all, a down day, wot?