Today has been a great day. I broke fast with Cousin Kay this morning. And since I was anxiety prompted to be an hour early so I wasn’t late, I finished the outline on a short story I had planned to start this evening. That didn’t quite work out as planned.
I’m in the midst of an actual creative upswing, so this is just a hi, I’m alive. I’m not doing great again mentally, because I’m hella sad and feeling like I’m going through touch deprivation again even though I’ve been sleeping under my weighted blanket and asking for hugs.
I’m off to do some more writing and work on some more book reviews that are weeks behind. Whoops.
I started this blog on Tuesday, 25th September 2018. It hasn’t been all that long. Well. Maybe it has? 153 days since my diagnosis. That is five months; that is twenty-two weeks as of today. It breaks down to 3670 some-odd hours, 220,350 minutes or so, or about 12,219,700 seconds. Again, give or take.
So far today, I’ve been bizarrely non-productive, or at least busy and not doing what I should be? I’m not having a great mental health day. I barely slept last night. I think I read most of a 100k word count fanfic because I couldn’t bloody sleep.