I'm all dopey, mopey this morning. Went to bed WAY late for me--after midnight--and slept fitfully until I finally got out of bed to see the damp greyness of a fog-covered morning. My knee hurts like hell and I have some horrible boil-like growth on my face that is killing me. Attractive? Oh, you bet. I'm the hottest tamale in town.
The boil-like thing was evident when my nurse was here in the morning. It got worse. I put a bandaid over it before my anniversary date came over. Everything else was fine. I had to go to the grocery store to get some passionfruit juice for a special Margarita I was to make. When I got into the car, the a.c. would not come on. I fell apart then, simply gave up. Things would be what they would be. I'm spiraling.
A night on the boulevard. An outside table on a busy sidewalk at a Turkish restaurant. A visit to the dock where we spent midnight 1999/2000. And then, it was New Year's Eve.
Dry January is coming. I may get a head start on it tonight. I don't have any affection for New Year's Eve celebrations, and I am tired. I will celebrate alone at home watching "Rifkin's Festival" and drinking hot herbal tea. I'll start the new year with a consultation on my horrible knee. I don't know what to do about this thing on my face. Warm washcloths, I guess. I don't think I'll eat in 2023. I may simply fast my way through the year. I've read that not eating is healthy. The body isn't really meant to consume food. I'll be a breatharian. I'll lock myself in a cell and avoid all external stimulation.
Just saying. . . I'm a mess. I'm not fit for human consumption.
And yet. . . .