I Hate Myself Today

I’m currently working from home, for this I am thankful. Except we may run out of work that I can do as of Monday (for which I apologize to the people I live with).

I went out today for the first time in two weeks to do a grocery run so I (in theory) won’t have to go out for another month. I hear people complaining about this and comparing it to the common flu but I also worry because there are so many being put into medically induced comas so their bodies can fight the virus. Without that, the death toll would be higher.

It started at 3% and has climbed to about 5%.

It’s not much, many say.

Kill about thirty thousand people and it’s the same as planting something like twenty million trees, which no one will do because it’s “too hard”.

And here I am with writer’s block.

I have two side projects and I have the plot for those side projects bothering me day in and day out. Super want to write them, but I can’t. The words are stuck, like behind a dam, and I know this feeling…

I want to write Mars Red and Mr. Wrightworth pops up every once in a while.

Okay, not every once in a while. I saw his real name the other day and he popped in. I responded to someone in chat, “good,” just in a normal fashion and he popped up.

Basically, I want to write, but I can’t.

My meds run ou next month and I considered, given the climate, to just do the work of easing myself off. Then I looked it up.

I’ve made strides while on the medication. Before, I was in survival mode constantly and this has kicked me out and reminded me that there’s something besides survival mode. So, in theory, I’ll do great even off it… but…

I worry.

So, I’ll have to venture out to my doctor’s office in the middle of a pandemic and I happen to know a bit about the medical field (only a bit) and I happen to know this doctor typically only takes on those who really, really need medical help and this has led me to worrying.

I have a family history of rheumatoid arthritis and almost certainly have it but my doctor won’t test until I come in with symptoms because it can result in false positives. That part made sense to me, but the rest didn’t…

Until I read that being treated for such a thing made you vulnerable to sickness. The thing was, they specified. Being treated for rheumatoid arthritis makes you vulnerable. 

Then I got to thinking…

If you can avoid flair-ups… I mean, the problem with rheumatoid arthritis is that your immunity is in overdrive and it ends up attacking the cartilage in your body.

For about two seconds I thought I’m immortal! and an evil laugh.

Anyhow, going out to the doctor causes me anxiety despite being on anxiety medication and needing to talk to the doctor about going off of my anxiety medication despite the pandemic that’s happening.

Let. Me. Fecking. Write.

This is the point where I’d be flipping my desk, if I were working at a desk.

But.

In order to ease off and not fall back into that constant survival mode, I have to call, and then go, to the doctor.

Who I know, for a fact, has to go to the emergency room. Because laws and such. I didn’t know that before. If you end up in the emergency room for more than a couple hours, your doctor comes in to visit you.

Anyhow, that’s my problem. Someone email me tomorrow and tell me to call my doctor so I can get this sorted out and writing within a month.

Might need the money, considering I may be laid off next week…

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