I find, this week, that I am more than a bit exhausted, and I don't want to deal with anything or anybody.
I find that I have been taking some things for granted.
I find that the PUS is doing their best to make our lives miserable, and ...
too often, I find that we are letting them.
I find that getting upset at night isn't really helpful with the whole CFIDS-insomnia thing.
I find that the more I want to say here, just lately, the less able I am to say it coherently.
I find out that hoping can be dangerous; again.
I find myself totally apathetic about tomorrow's doctor's appointment, because I am too tired to even think clearly, let alone hope to make sense while I'm there.
I find that midnight is a terrible time to be writing, when you are feeling this poorly.