I've taken a break from blogging, or indeed from thinking about much. If I could characterize my mood over the past few months, it might range from somewhat depressed to murderously enraged, without much of a break for joy or pleasure. The result has been, as the Greeks would say, choler in the blood. I haven't been sick in 21 years, minus the occasional cold or mild flu, but last week my virus morphed into shingles, and it hit me like a truck.
No, I didn't get the vaccine; it has neomycin in it, and I'm allergic to most antibiotics. Still, I'd rather have hives for a day than this. If childbirth was 10, and a botched root canal was 9, this was an 8—and it lasted a lot longer than either!
I honestly haven't thought about shingles since the height of the AIDS epidemic, but it seems like a singularly perfect metaphor for my toxic mood. I'm healing in body and must work harder on the spirit.