Let me be clear: I never vomited for all of junior high, never in high school, never in college. Once in my adult life due to a deathly allergic reaction. So you can imagine how utterly shocking it was to throw up eight times this weekend. I’d forgotten how horrible it is to puke. I can’t decide if it’s worse when you’re a kid (because barfing is about the worst thing that can happen to you when you’re little) or if it’s worse as an adult (because instead of having your mom take care of you and clean it up, YOU have to do it).

I’ve been sick. As you can tell.

But not just the story above. I’ve been switching around my medication and trying to land on something that will help me to sleep. It’s been a hassle, and while I think I might have found something that will work (Unisom & Magnesium Glycinate), I had to endure about two weeks of sleepless nights to get to that point.

Plus, I’ve had some issues with depressive symptoms and the like. There were mornings where, quite frankly, it was as if the sun didn’t come up for me. I could do nothing but lie in bed, and some days this was happening until the late-afternoon hours, which made me feel even worse.

I got behind in my writing. In fact, I went for about a week and a half without looking at my manuscript. I just couldn’t drum up the strength or courage.

Do you know what this is like? You can sympathize with me?

I think I’m back on track. I’m caught up on sleep. I got an extension on my draft deadline. I’m practicing self-care. I made a to-do list and am working my way through it. I’m making lots of time for myself, even if I feel selfish doing it. My friends are so flexible and understanding, even when I bail on them again and again because I can’t face life.

Spring is coming. It’s not even just around the corner. It’s actually been HERE the last few days. Minnesota and almost seventy degrees in early March? It’s like someone injecting hope into my veins in the form of Vitamin D. (The projected lows for this week are in the thirties, so I’m bracing myself.)

I feel good about my job. It’s Sunday night, and I’m not even dreading tomorrow because I feel on top of my work and good at what I do. I feel ready to dive into another week of hard, important, meaningful work.

Yesterday, I spent an hour with some lovely young adults at a book club at the St. Cloud Library. It was a joy to talk about reading and writing, and especially in regard to YA, with them. ❤

I’ve revised my word count goals so that I’ll have a finished (albeit messy) draft at the end of the month. Now to just stay on top of that chart. (I’m tempted to do what my friend Alison does, but the possibility that I’ll get off track is just too great and I can’t bear to contribute to the downfall of American/Trump’s campaign.)

I’m down today. BUT I also recognize this as one of my routine low points, one that will likely be gone by tomorrow, so I’m not worried. Just plodding through, getting work done in spite of the feelings. It feels really good to be discerning of my moods in this way. To be able to treat myself kindly and to not stress over it too much.

This post is really blathery. Sorry. Guess I just needed to get some of this out of my system.