Stories. Not a blog.

WORKING ON THE ENDEAVOR. STORIES ARE MAGIC. THIS LIFE IS A GIFT.

It is 86 degrees outside and sunny, but I am still wearing a thick robe and warm pants.

Why? Well, because I am still “sick”.

The fatigue returned and my nose is still stuffy. I feel somewhat disoriented and mildly dizzy; and all I want to do is sleep.

It's been 10 days of hell and if things don't improve by Friday I will schedule a doctor's appointment and see what's going on.

In the meantime, please wish me luck. I have no idea why the vaccine is having such a horrible effect on me! (still don't regret it, though.)

Godspeed.

C. W.

(last week) And it sucked. A lot.

DAY 1: GETTING THE SHOT

The first part of the afternoon after getting the vaccine went by smoothly. I had lots of energy and felt good. Around 8PM, however, things started to change. I began to feel EXTREMELY TIRED and my head began to feel as if it had been stuffed inside a box with safety packaging and bubble wrap. Everything felt tight and I began to feel a little bit disoriented.

After eating a light meal I went to bed and then BOOM! The real pain and misery began.

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My sister graduated from high school last week. The ceremony was long; full of unnecessary musical breaks and arduous speeches, but I was so happy to be there. She looked cute as a button getting her diploma AND she graduated summa cum laude.

Happy to say I am a VERY PROUD big sister.

Godspeed.

C. W.

There is this very sexist “joke” in Mexican culture about women learning to cook. Once they learn and can do it without fucking up they are then “ready to get married”

Today, ladies and gentlemen I have achieved that “wondrous” milestone.

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Why does procrastination exist; and why am I a slave to it? For years I've tried to be productive and efficient and. . . Ugh, I'll finish my thought later.

Godspeed.

C. W.

I wrote a post on May 29th about a book I was supposed to have finished by tomorrow (Saturday) for my book club. After a traumatizing experience reading that sucker (and a few days of careful meditation) I am now ready to share my (very unnecessary) thoughts.

Never in my life have I read a book (or textbook) that has made me feel as dumb as On War and Morality by Robert L. Holmes did. Wow, just wow. For the life of me I couldn't get past page three and believe me when I say it wasn't for lack of trying.

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I'm feeling overwhelmed right now. I have been trying to finish a part of my Endeavor for almost three weeks and I've barely made any progress. Illness—both mental and physical—has kept me in bed for hours (and even days) on end, and severe sleep deprivation has made whatever waking time I have a completely misery.

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How ya doin' Sharpie Kid? Are you still alive? After snorting and sniffing black ink all the time? I remember the days when you used to chew, Black Sharpies and markers til' your lips turned dark blue. It's been over a decade since I've seen you, So, Sharpie Kid, are you still sniffing glue (too)?

You are the brightest gem I know. Heck! You're the only gem I know, but that doesn't change how I feel about you.

I love you—a lot. And I hate that I've never said this to you, but you are also my gift. My gift from God. And that is why I hate that I hurt you without trying. I hate that I am not adequately able to help you; because, like you, I am also struggling. Yes, I know. I know you are struggling, but I don't know why. Or how. Or for how long. Or how to help.

Littlest of gems, I can see it in your eyes. You are just like me; trying (and sometimes failing) to get by. That is a burden I will carry for as long as I live—and whatever lies beyond death, too. That as your older sister I am/was not able to help or protect you.

Maybe someday, when we are old and blind in one eye and deaf in one ear, we will be able to sit down. And you will speak with me for a minute or two. And you will tell me why, the gate to your castle was nearly as locked as mine.

By then, though, when we are old and blind in one eye and deaf in one ear, I hope you will be joyous and happy. And that many blessings were bestowed upon you. Littlest of gems, maybe someday you can forgive me too?

I love you sweet boy. You are a gift. My gift. A gift from God. My gift from God. You are a gift. A perfect and wonderful gift. A gift from the stars. A gift from the universe.

You are light, because you came from light. And you are perfect because you are made from everything that is good and pure and sweet and kind and marvelous and holy. You are perfect and I love you. I always have and I always will. My love, I will never get tired of saying it.

I love you sweet boy. Now and forever. Until the end of time—and whatever lies beyond that too— I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. ∞

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