Brittle Tensions

The sky is blue, the air is “brisk” (5°F, feels like -9°F), and my head is pounding. My broken blog has been fixed…to some extent…but the individual posts are not viewable. The “fixes” cost me several hundred dollars, which I suppose is a reasonable investment, inasmuch as the blog is, essentially, my “hobby.” But I wish I could simply turn the entire project over to someone who would take care of all of the glitches; I am losing my patience to deal with the minutia of managing a blogsite/website. My patience seems to be shattering into a thousand pieces, courtesy of this damn pounding headache. And I worry that the roads on Thursday will remain icy and unsafe as I prepare for my early morning chemotherapy appointment. I am ravenously hungry for something like an apple fritter or biscuits and gravy or hashbrowns  and a couple of rashers of bacon. But if I could fall quickly and deeply asleep, I would, opting for sleep over sustenance. I’m tired of screwing around with blog-related irritations. My tensions are growing more and more brittle. I keep asking myself “what’s the point?” The answer I give is completely unsatisfactory. What I need is a heavy dose—maybe multiple doses—of morphine; something to deaden mental and physical pain. Enough of this ranting. It’s almost a quarter after 8 and I am utterly unproductive and unhappy with my head. Maybe I’ll try an early morning nap, something that might last through the day.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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