The Drivel Thread

[Light Housework]

I don’t feel up to painting at all.

 

[Light Housework]

After lying down for a while, the hint of nausea is gone and my appetite is back. My lung’s not hurting. But I expect the pain to return. My lung still feels sickly. I’m not in the mood to paint. I won’t forget having felt so bad earlier. I will again feel so bad, soon, I expect. The rattling cough just happened now, and my lung feels ominous and I will probably lie back down soon. I’m not expecting any more reprieves from feeling sickly. I’m pretty sure I won’t make it to the November art show. I am enjoying having my appetite back and eating an orange, some tahini, and a cucumber. I don’t feel like watching videos of you or painting portraits of you right now Morrissey. I wouldn’t make good company as I am currently. I’m feeling quite sorry for myself and am jealous of people who enjoy robust health. The way my lung feels isn’t romantic. I feel screwed, and uninspired. The sensation in my right lung is distracting and has my attention in its grip.

 

[nicky wire's legs]

I hope you get answers soon.

She does have an answer: it's called schizophrenia

 

[Light Housework]

Although my right lung doesn’t feel okay, it’s been better than yesterday. Nausea hasn’t plagued me today. I just rattle coughed now, after feeling some discomfort crop up in my affected lung. It’s demoralizing, and I don’t feel like writing Morrissey sticky notes, though I’m hoping I will go for a walk this evening. I might just go back to bed, as that’s where my lung seems to do best. Lying down. It’s feeling worse as I write this post, after lying down earlier. I walked to the cafe with a mental health worker this afternoon, and my lung bothered me a little with her, and now, it seems to be ramping up again, reminding me of how bad I felt yesterday. It’s not looking good for me. I don’t feel like painting, or watching videos of Morrissey. I wish Morrissey, you’d contact me somehow before I’m gone, but I’m losing hope that you will. I wanted to feel the touch of your hand before I go. I still want to, though I feel sickly in my lung. I can’t help but think that you will never touch me, and I’ve begun to resign myself to that seeming probability. I can’t keep hoping for you to finally touch me, with my lung feeling this way and no sign from you that you want to see me before it’s too late. My lung feels awful right now, though it’s not an acute pain presently. It just feels very, very infected. I will try to go for a walk at 7PM.

 

[Light Housework]

I went for my walk along my usual route, and my lung didn’t bother me. I had hoped you’d be at my door when I got home Morrissey. It feels pleasant to hope to be with you. I’m enjoying not feeling bad at the moment, though I know it won’t last. I don’t know if I’ll paint today, tomorrow, or even the next day, because feeling so bad on Sunday was a terrible blow to my morale, and even as I write this post, my right lung is getting my attention as the sickly sensation comes again to the fore.

“We all lose."

 

[Light Housework]

I’ll Never Be Anybody’s Hero Now