This morning I am 100% brain-dead. Yesterday I got news about an MRI I had earlier this week. I’ve been waited on pins and needles for the results. I mean, something is wrong with me and I would really like to know what it is so I can get it fixed and move on.
No such luck.
The MRI came back normal. Well, that’s a good thing, I guess. But it means we still have no idea what’s wrong with me. I’m 24 years old, slowing going blind and deal with horrid headaches that won’t go away, passing out, and numbness, and so far there is nothing we can do about it. It’s not my eyes or my brain. Now they are talking about having a heart problem or vascular disease at 24. WTH.
So, needless to say, I’m a little depressed today. I want to curl up in a little ball and cry.
Instead, I’ll take a really deep breath, close my eyes.
I have a book to write. I have lots of books to write. So, I’m going to do what I do best, and try to put a happy spin on things so I can work on my novel. And of course the moment I try that voice in my head laughs and sneers out at me. “Why put a happy spin on it love,” it purrs, “the things you write are dark and twisted, so embrace it and make it part of the horror you write.”
Well, it does have a point.