Wednesday. It's now two in the afternoon, some five or six hours later than when I usually start one of these things. The issues with the difficulty focusing and to some degree the “logy” funky feelings have pretty much gone to be replaced by what feels like a developing chest cold. I'm hoping it's an almost chest cold that decides, once this day is done, it too has had enough.
So better. Same trouble getting to sleep, although the earlier symptoms of the day seemed to be better, but awakening before six to get up in the usual routine and walk to breakfast, thinking “not so bad”, but keeping an eye on things, as I wasn't one hundred percent sure we weren't, you know, kidding ourself. Wishing it true.
Home to post yesterday's whining entry and to bed and an hour's nap. Good to sleep. A bath and then more bed. A look at the tablet, but just a look.
So we'll see. Better than yesterday, the (perhaps) developing chest cold not so bad, but you never know. We'll see.
Evening. Still at the edge of a chest cold, the chest not quite at the point of starting coughing, so we're keeping a low profile, watching this seventh game of the World Series, still feeling better than we did yesterday, but again: low profile, try not to do anything to make the lungs go over the edge.
And how do you do that?
Just don't overdo it, whatever “it” may entail.