Tippetarius

My poor languishing journal. I keep meaning to post something new, and the next thing I know several weeks have flown by. (I also keep meaning to post a new chapter, but that's not from lack of trying; I've got a lot written, but it needs more reworking and editing.)

Last week I got my first Moderna shot. The shot itself was quick, but I had to sit in a waiting area for fifteen minutes to make sure I wasn't having a bad reaction. I had a sore shoulder for a couple of days, and I felt a tiny bit of proto-sicky stiffness when I went to bed the first night, but otherwise I was fine. The second dose is supposed to hit you harder, so I'll see how I fare next time.

Lately my bullet journal is like the news: almost nothing but coronavirus updates. I can flip back and see when I first started noticing signs of this thing creeping into daily life-- the people wearing masks and gloves, the sanitary wipes and toilet paper disappearing from the shelves, the growing numbers of confirmed cases and deaths. There's a special section about symptoms to watch for and numbers to call in case... well, just in case.

Maybe there's some value in tracking these things, but sometimes I feel myself going over the edge and have to pull myself back. I can't control what's happening out there, and thinking too much about it is zapping my energy. It's harder to read, harder to write, harder to stick with the routines I've set for myself.

Then again, maybe this means it's time to stop trying to be a productive human being for the moment. Maybe it's time to binge-watch Fraggle Rock or something.