I don’t have much to say this morning, other than to report that the mighty demon of strep throat has apparently noticed my spiritually weak and incredibly compromised immune system and descended upon it once more. But I’m still writing something today.
Why, if there’s nothing useful to say, am I doing that, you ask? Because I must. Having a ritual is helpful. Having something that you acknowledge you must do every day, and forcing yourself to do it, even if you’re not feeling up to it, is important.
“Write every day,” the sages say, and I’m trying. I don’t want to; I’d much rather stay in bed, drug the hell out of myself, set Idle Champions up and doze all day while half-listening to Jeff Holiday Wingnut Roundups. I will probably do just that after I log off the computer. But this came first. I promised. “Every day in August,” I said. I’m not falling off the wagon when it’s 2/3rds of the way along the trail. Dysentery isn’t going to bump me off when Oregon is in sight. I refuse.
That’s the ritual. Shove myself out of bed. Take my pills. Pour the coffee. Reload the vape tank. Plug all my devices in. Turn on the computer. Force myself to check my Instagram and Twitter notifications and respond as necessary. Open up WordPress and put something on there. Anything. Because it must be done.
Now, it has been done. Back to bed with me, I think.
Insomniac Nightmares 
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