Last night, for a couple hours, I felt most unwell. I think I had eaten something that disagreed with me because I was completely better by morning, but while my discomfort lasted I ran through some dismal possible outcomes.
I thought I might have cancer. Whenever anything's wrong with me, I think I might have cancer. So far, I've been wrong every time. (Thank you, Lord.)
I also thought I might die that very night, and I envisioned when, and how, and by whom my dead body would be found. I had read an article online about a woman in England who was dead for five years before her body was discovered on her living room couch, with the TV still running. How would my dog react? I had seen an article online about a dog that had to eat its dead owner to survive. Perhaps I need to stop falling for lurid clickbait.
Anyway, aside from not getting as much sleep as I would have liked, I'm none the worse.
And tomorrow is Friday. Sometimes on a Friday I'll keep checking my calendar to see if it really is Friday because that seems too good to be true. After all, four out of five workdays it's not Friday, so why should this one be different? It's just so unlikely. But sometimes the good thing is true.
Hard to believe.
