I'm sick. Felt crappy this morning---physically, emotionally, spiritually. Had to rally like the Dickens to do my duty at FestiFools, in the cold & wind & (thankfully just a little) rain. Then got the litter box done & the trash & composting & recycling out and went to get cat food and came home and ate & collapsed. Don't think I'm going to make it to the end of "Celebrity Apprentice" tonight.
I did have a few moments out there tending the barrier when I felt glad to be being of use for something. I'd be feeling miserable anyway, whether at home under a blanket or standing there. There, at least, I was distracted from the other kinds of misery. And once in a while I could feel the love, in the love's ever so dilute & fleeting incarnations, like when the two I'd earlier directed to the library (complete with today's closing time) returned, just before the parading, and made a point of grinning to me how they'd succeeded.
They were cuties. They saw me. They saw a me, labelled "Ralph" (thanks to an email snafu), who was just a friendly helperbot, but that helperbot was me. That friendly was me. That feeling crappy and going on anyway was me.
It's snowing. My eyeballs ache, as do all the bones of my hands and arms, and every iota of tendon in my neck. Hurts to swallow; hurts not to swallow. Poor me. Can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Send me your psychic good wishes, good people. I'll try to imagine I can feel them.
-- Your Ralph