On the second day of a headache. Threw everything I could at it yesterday but woke up with it all the same.
Friday. The month of June has gone. Swallowed up by the loud drone of cicadas. I stopped walking since they arrived. And now, everything is stiff and I feel every bit of 52 some days. I am stiffness and fog. I only have the focus to read and even then, only so much. So many words then I’m overwhelmed and my brain exits stage right. I am going to rearrange my vision board so that it catches my attention again. I have to retrain myself every so often. A form of memory care.
But retrain I must, or fall of the wagon. Writing really does keep me alive, even if I am writing babble. It is mine. It is some form of magic.
