116. ...unpick my identity.

(morning thinking)

I’ve trapped a marble that contains all of Paul in the grip of a g-clamp.

Paul Lambie caught in a G-clamp

I am compressed in the chest. Headachey from the constant coughing and sniffing and high pressure nose blowing. My face is red. I haven’t been up for long and I desperately want to go back to bed.

Part of the dull pain of a virus is the unpredictable, inescapable nature of it. The powders and tinctures might work, might edge me closer to freedom but I’ve no way, really, of knowing whether they’re working. On health remand waiting for sentencing. I might get let off and walk away in a couple of days or this claustrophobic limited existence could last weeks. For the moment, I’m caught in the grip of it.

Last year’s covid experience still scares me. The idea that ill health can linger for months, creepy stretched out Nosferatu fingers poking into every nook and cranny of me to undo all the good work, push me under quilts and covers the way depression would and unpick my identity.

Hold onto the positive habits just a wee bit. Teensy baby grip.

When Root Down opens I’ll mask up and shuffle up with my hoodie hood up to stock up on veggies and berries and fruits. Fill up on health fuel. Put in some down time and let my immune system do its thing.

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How you feeling? This lurgy is doing me in but I’ve heard it’s been going around. I hope you’ve dodged it. Or if you haven’t I hope you can see health somewhere up ahead.

My window’s open. It’s sunny. Runners, sailboats, rowers and dogs chasing tennis balls launched by those plastic throwers cut through my frame. Groups of laughing swimmers populate the morning beach. It’s optimistic outside. I can lean into that.

There’s the litter picking lady and her dog on the shoreline!

There’s more good in the world than bag. I wont let my outlook be defined by coughing and chest clag.

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How you feeling?