Just these past few days I was so sick that I thought I might die. I got all prepared for that, and life threw me a curve ball and I'm all better now. Every day I've gone to sleep since sunday I've woken up feeling slightly different but better and more energetic overall. I realize this sounds morbid, but it would perhaps have been so much easier to die than to have to come to grips with continuing to live. I am perhaps as I write this experiencing some kind of post illness psychological shock.
To be clear: I'm glad I lived, and I intend to keep it that way. I'm just feeling a bit lost on the particulars at the moment. I feel like I've lost track of why. So why all the exercise? Why bother keeping on at anything? I was spared-- but there was no destined purpose at the end of my literal fever. So what's the point?
Perhaps the problem is that I'm looking for answers-- trying to fit this all into some sort of concrete story of 'my life.' But life is just too ugly to fit a straight and narrow, or to compress down into paper and ink.
Anyway. I'm still on the mend. A few days yet, if things keep looking up for me... :S
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