Sandstorm

I got sunburn walking to and from the Gym yesterday. Moisturising skin has become a constant occurrence. T-shirts don’t fit around the tops of arms and shoulders. The last time I bled it was April. Body is changing, and the sensation is, I’ll admit, often disconcerting. Sleep’s a battle when boiling one moment and freezing the next. Anti histamines simply fail to work, but taking paracetamol cures hay fever. No, I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, but am coping far better than was ever expected, though today there will be heads down before lunchtime. Fatigue is a constant issue, especially when working hard enough at the gym for sweat to soak through two layers of clothing.

The results however are enough to offset hormonal disturbance.

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There has been painfully slow progress on organising back end stuff, but yesterday a ton of folders and directories got rearranged and restructured. Post it notes are everywhere, slowly being torn and binned, each piece picked up and fitted into this new picture. There are e-mails to write, but without clarity they remain nebulous and uncertain. There’s a path however, obvious and inviting. Poetry surprisingly becomes a salvation, words again giving comfort when deeds and actions fail. They’re the repetitive actions, steps on a treadmill, reps in a weightlifting set. Do this enough times and habits form, gains are made. That’s the way forward.

Words

There’s still too much mess around here. Time to clean and tidy, dispose and remove.

No time any more for clutter.