I'm itching to play tennis again. My muscles ache all over in the way you only get from working your body and pushing limits. It feels good.

But I am most definitely sick on being a woman. At any given moment I'm convinced I'm to puke, pass out, or rip my insides out. Ugh. It's awful. I just want to sleep but there are spiders everywhere and I'm just generally uncomfortable. It's too quiet. I have the house alone for four days. I'm worried about Rosie and her leg, about my health, my sorry excuse for room dwelling and cleaning it, the right decision for my haircut, missing out on everything. I feel so disconnected. Far away; sleepy.