How does one work when very ill? I’m still pondering that conundrum. But I can report that I now hear, however faintly, the siren song of my work, calling me to rejoin it. I cast longing glances at my reference books and overflowing notebooks.
My brain is not yet able to handle the spatial geometry necessary for serious writing or for creating illustrations of that geometry. But at least I want to be able to, which is a clear step forward. To rekindle the spark, the desire to write, to assemble, to connect, appears to be essential to regaining my mental health, along with my physical health.
I can’t yet read philosophy of any depth but I am at least reading a new biography of Spinoza and have left the fiction aside in favor of it. Another positive sign.
It’s a slow slog, no doubt about it, but at least I’m still putting one mud-caked boot in front of the other.