Other than a spate of pretty funny puns from friends on Facebook, having shingles is not particularly hilarious. I feel good that I haven't had a drink or a gallon of ice cream, I've kept my snacking somewhat in check, I've been able to work enough to keep my clients happy, I've been resting a lot and taking care of myself.
It's been a week of itching and pain and I'm ready for it to be over and I don't think that's going to happen. While my rash is subsiding, the cramping and itching are not and tonight I'm pretty miserable. And that miserableness makes me restless and irritable.
I don't want to be good. I don't want to meditate or raise my consciousness or get in touch with my Higher Self. I want to give this to someone else, anyone else, although I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy--if I had an enemy. Well, there are a few people in history I'd love to see afflicted with this. I don't remember if shingles was one of the torments of Dante's hell but it could have been.
I'm lonely and I've been isolating all day. I made some phone calls this evening but everybody seems to be out or away for the weekend or maybe they're isolating like me. I had a party I could have gone to but I was too miserable to sit still.
I wrote those paragraphs and felt really sorry for myself. And then I knew what to do. Go for a walk. How simple! I walked up through beautiful Laurelhurst Park. It's 65, breezy and clear. It was gorgeous. I walked two miles at a good pace. The sweating wasn't good for the shingles but my mood is much improved.