Yup. I'm feelin' sorry for myself this morning. I'm tired. Last night I came home from work at about 6:00 and did nothing for myself except take a bath. The rest of the time I worked--dinner, dishes, bills. I finally said, "I'm going downstairs to play my guitar," and then couldn't really play it, because I have a dry-skin crack right under the thumbnail of my picking hand. Frustrating.
So, I woke up this morning tired from yesterday, not really wanting to go to the gym. Well, really, tiredness isn't all of it. I've also developed a nasty case of plantar fasciitis over the past week, and I don't like doing things other than running for my aerobic exercise--things that would cause less stress on my plantar. So I wussed out. Honestly, I'd like to call in sick today, but I won't do that. I'd like to go back to bed, but no. I've accomplished something though--I got my writing done for the day. Worked on my novel a bit. Not much though. Not enough. My depression has deepened and is causing me to lose my drive. I think I'm going to put some Gorilla glue on my crack, so that I can at least be pain free (ha!) for a day. What a whiner I am. I really need a vacation.