Hope and dreams

   I have not been up to posting. There are a scattered baker's dozen drafts lined up; none have been close to finished.

It is as though my body exhaled a final "Meh" before settling into this weird stupor. Is this mental state due to the Lyrica or due to the unconquerable fortress of pain enveloping my existence? It feels endless. I can not recall yesterday. I can not recall this morning. It is just periods of time punctuated by scratchy moments of sleep. 

I am not depressed. It is entirely possible that my memory skips are due to not actually paying attention to my surrounds. I am floating along. I am not high. I simply exist in a muted world.

Of course, my outlook is growing dimmer knowing that I have not completed any projects.

 

The shingles pain will eventually decrease and I can stop taking Lyrica. I can rescue my mind and try to achieve only a few goals before summer: turn the small room into a bedroom, make the current bedroom a larger lounge and writer's corner, hire movers to haul my mother's desk and other furnishings downstairs, put up a fence in the yard.

If I can get this done, I will have transformed living areas into places where we can actually live. Hope and dreams can manifest into reality.