Hey, all. I've been bedridden, but I tried to put the down time to good use. Well, I did after I modified my lap desk. Writing means having to bend my neck, and use some of the very muscles that are plagued with pain and spasms. Well, duh me, huh? So I stacked pillows beneath my lap desk. It raised my writing platform, but it did nothing to improve my handwriting or view. So I hope no one needs an interpreter to read my scrawl.
This is what twelve pieces of correspondence look like. I did it in less than 24 hours. Therein lies part of my problem. I take a pain pill. The pill tricks my brain into believing it's okay to do things. Doing things feels good. Doing things also exacerbates the inflammation and what ever else is going on. The pain block wears off and I'm whining, "Oh, Lord I'm in so much pain!"
I don't know why, but I look in the mirror every time I go to the bathroom, and I go often. The antibiotic instructions came with the pharmacist's emphatic instructions to "Drink lots and lots of water!" Water is my favorite beverage, but still . . . So, I've been looking in the mirror a lot, and what I see is scary. I have one of the worst cases of bed head I've ever seen on something not stuck out in a corn field with an old hat on it's head. It's serious scary. Who knew hair could head in so many different directions at once? (Ha-ha! Pun purely accidental.)
If I were Miss Marple I'd try to solve the mystery of the Bed Head Mail Murder, 'cause this hair needs shampooing, a comb-out, or shooting. I'm not sure which would be more humane. Until I figure it out . . . Write on!
P.S. Cathy I love you! Thanks for the lovely "get better" card. I feel your good wishes.