I’m turning into a cat. I’m about to lie down for what I hope is my last (third) nap of the day. I have to leave this apartment–library books are due and I refuse to sully my perfect “zero fines” record. The sun’s shining, I need more probiotics on this fourth day of the Stomach Flu Blues. Not mind blues, body blues. Well, I “caved” (I know, Mom, it’s not caving when you take something to feel better) and jabbed myself with Enbrel yesterday. I’m not supposed to take it when sick but my system’s always duking it out with a chest cold/sinus infection/whatever when I’m on it. The pain’s too much, interfering with sleep, writing, living. Little things. Oh, and after five days of teasing me as if it took a course on tantra, my uterus started shedding in earnest last night. (But peace and love, uterus, peace and love.)

OK. Breenie, if I’m not up by 5PM you’ve permission to puke on the bed again. Deal?

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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