Woke up to All The Aches

I'm guessing it's a virus, but ouch. Two days ago, I went to get out of bed and almost fell over. My knees were so sore I couldn't stand up. I have arthritis, but it's usually manageable. Not that day or the past couple of days.

Even sitting here trying to write this, my fingers are screaming. But I know if I stop moving, things will get worse. I also resolved to write every day. I failed to go out for a walk every day already. My knees wouldn't let me.

I am giving myself a pass on that one simply because I physically couldn't do it. I'm definitely on the bandwagon that tomorrow is another day.

Why?

I am laying the blame on my daughter. She has been coughing for a solid month now. She has been to the doctor, and they said it was viral. Her lungs are clear, and her throat is red. No fever, but a continuous cough. I'm not coughing, but every joint in my body screams at me at level-ten volume. Hubby also feels off, but not enough to claim sickness.

Getting old sucks!

Photo by Wilhelm Gunkel on Unsplash

Death of a keyboard

One of my darling children spilt liquid on my keyboard. As anyone who spends a lot of time writing will know, a good keyboard is essential. They are not cheap. Right now, I am using a cheap ten-quid one the kids had. It does not pass the vibe test.

I have not felt like going out to look at keyboards, but after writing this post, I am going in the morning. Needs must.

I refuse to buy a keyboard without feeling it first, especially when you spend upwards of a hundred pounds for one. Did I mention I can not afford a good keyboard at the moment?

Thankfully, hubby got a twenty-five-pound voucher from his work so that I will find a decent one around the fifty mark. When buying a new keyboard, I advise taking out an extended warranty. I didn't with my last one. Oh, my hubris has come to haunt me.

A play to finish

There is also a play to finish. As some of you may know, I am in university. My assignment is due by the 11th of January. We have to write a fifteen-minute script (it can be several mediums, but I chose theatre) based on our last prose piece.

I will post that here as well in a separate piece.

So, I need a decent keyboard. I shall do it tomorrow if I have to crawl through the store. Yes, I am dramatic, but that's a writer's life. Our imagination is our own worst enemy.

It’s just life.

Overall, this article isn't about anything in particular. Today is a daily life type of read. I think the human element is the most important part of writing. Especially with history. Perhaps someone hundreds or thousands of years from now will read this and get a glimpse into the common man's reality (or woman in this case!)

My greatest wish

This is my ego talking, but I hope they will one day read my writings and musings after I’m long dead. I love the writings of Pliny the Younger. Now, I am not comparing myself to him, but I dream of having people know my name centuries after I'm gone, even if a rarified few in high academia stumbled across something of mine.

I know I will fade into the folds of history. I am not famous, but if some of my writing survives, I am immortalised in some small way.

To conclude

I’m old, sore and feeling sorry for myself, with dreams of grandeur. I don't know what it is if that’s not part of the human condition.

As always, I love to hear from my readers. Please reply to how you are doing, your thoughts or your moans. We are all in this together.