Still dealing with Covid and it’s still awful in many ways, but I’m upright and I’m alert and my hands are still moving so it can’t be all bad. Can’t be all good, but also not all bad. That said, it has been a massive drain on getting most things done and I’m getting quite tired of it. A lot of lost time dissipating in the wind and I can’t get it back.

Rest is needed of course but I do not feel I am able to rest. I feel a strong need to keep on going and trying to write and create and all of those things, but I feel hamstrung by Covid, and it just isn’t great and I have to deal with this being what I have to currently deal with. Alas.

It hasn’t given me more time to think, and it certainly has tried to entice me into rest, and perhaps I have been resting more than I want to admit to myself at this present juncture in time. Still, I keep on going. I keep trying to get things done, but I am unable to do them well. Such is life.

I wonder if upon a clear stream a leaf floats along currents. I wonder if the leaf is carried in a smooth way, and it seems to glide as though silk. I wonder if the sound of the stream could be heard over the sound of the breeze, or if there is indeed a breeze at all. I wonder if any birds would glide along on the breeze, or if they’d resist in that particular moment in time. I also wonder as to how much longer it will be before I start getting better. This is taking too long and I’m feeling quite done at this stage, but it continues and so do I.

There’s only so much time we have in the world and we need to do what we can with it, and sometimes we can’t and that’s fine, and sometimes we won’t and that’s also fine. I know I’m not alone in this, but this sort of malaise just drags me down. It is an anchor, but it’s also making me realise things about what I do and do not want to do, and perhaps I need to start cutting things down sooner rather than later. And maybe I will.

But before then I need to recover, and once I recover I need to get back to being healthy, and once I’ve done than I can go from there. Maybe that will be a while away; maybe it will only be a few days. Who am I to say how long being ill will last? Who am I to say how long this will all take me? Ideally I’d like to be better sooner rather than later, but that’s not something I can control. For the time being what I’ll do is keep trying, and failing, to get some needed rest.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:30:40

Bit slower than I’d hoped but that’s the way it goes sometimes.
I think that a bit of this is decent, but there’s some clear stretching going on and it doesn’t help. Perhaps this would have worked as just something shorter.

Written at home.