And it finally took its toll. I am now sick.
The long hours, the multitude of errands, the lack of sleep, and the most nagging of all – the constant vicious worrying.
I am now to waste my weekends stuck in bed insisting in my mind that my life should be different. That someone should be taking care of me and that I should be happy and content. But for what? I can fancy all I desire but nothing will ever be different.
Mona said, it can only get better, well yeah, I don’t intend to be in flu limbo forever. But the rest, will it be better? Will I finally get what I’ve been hoping for?
A few more pages to go before I finish The Swan Thieves. It’s a very melancholic novel. Something I shouldn’t come close even with a yard stick. But hey, it’s company.
Next stop, Say You’re One Of Them.
I hope to go to church this Sunday, get some penance or something. This dogged feeling I’ve been living with for almost a month needs a little guidance.