The old fatigue problem has been back with a vengeance
today. It isn’t just feeling tired you know; it affects just about every part
of your body from head to toe. It defines ‘feeling ill.’ It even brings our mutual
friend, depression, along with it for company. (And the one thing that eases it
is whisky. True.)
Off to the doc’s tomorrow for the blood test results. I might make a post about it if I’ve got nothing better to do.
And here’s something interesting: I’ve got a sore little wound in the middle of the palm on my right hand. The rationalist in me presumes that it’s the work of a thorn from the climbing roses I was working with today, but the other half wonders whether I should write to the Pope and ask whether it qualifies me to become a saint.
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