This text was written as I learn to live with Long Covid and attempt to regain my creativity. All the posts and some more info can be found here.
I sit at my desk, fingers resting on the keyboard, waiting for the words to come. I have spent the last few days musing on topics for this blog post but nothing emerges.
It's not that nothing has happened. I could write about my slow recovery from the crash induced by my blossom bicycle ride. I could write about a friend's visit. I could write about the smart watch I purchased to help me monitor some of my symptoms (very early days but it looks promising) in spite of my disproportionate dislike of smart watches in my life. I could write about packing for an upcoming camping trip and all that it means to me (so much to write about here). I could write about missing the lake, their water calling to me but my body is in need of rest more than anything else.
I seek the words but they disappear into a thick wall of fog and I know it is useless to fight it. I will only bring fatigue and pain this way. I am still in the throes of post-exertional malaise. I am no longer horizontal. I am even back to work, but I have some way to go to return to the self who can read, who can write.
