When I wrote that I thought of Louis XVI and his diary entry on the day the Bastille was stormed (I think, or it might have been the day of the Tennis Court Oath. One or the other) and he wrote,"Nothing." Scholars have explained it meant his hunt that day had yielded nothing. In my case it means, I have nothing on my needles. That is too, too weird.
I got sick with some kind of mystery plague last week. Friday, Saturday I was feeling gross, by Sunday I was unable to work. I showed up anyway then went home about ten, nearly hallucinating. My throat was so sore I couldn't swallow and I just wanted to lie down. Which I did. For four days. Monday the doc gave me a z-pack, and I feel better, almost cured, but I still haven't picked up the needles.
Part of it is illness- related. Something going on with my neck and arm, I couldn't even eat with my right hand. That's been as big a misery as the throat. Sleeping, sitting. It hurts now! But bearable. I thought it was couch neck. Who knows.
So I worked yesterday, barely chugging along, and made it. So today, I am sure will be better. And hope they have the part fixed at work that keeps causing crashes and handpays. It's been a struggle. Wish I felt better. This is the longest I've gone without knitting that I can remember.