I am hungry.

.
.
I'll have a fatted coffee and call it good though.  My hands, both of them, are too swollen and sore to work with easily.  But more, I don't have the energy to cook.  I have a few pots which need washing, a real cleaning, if a final one.  I was able to do them well enough to get them out of the shower, then take a shower.  But, now, couldn't do that.  Good thing I got that taken care of before the swelling began.

It's not horrible swelling, just enough that it feels like my skin is foreign, and too tight to even grip things well or properly.  As if wearing gloves a size or two too small.  All other pains, all pains really, are numb, so it's pretty good.  They are there, under there, if I push I feel.  Otherwise they are just hidden from sight, if not quite out of mind fully.  I'll put the ducks up, then check about somethings.  If nothing is happening tonight, I may actually attempt to go on back to bed.

The pots are out of the shower, so I can shower again tomorrow if needs be.  Why do I still use the tub?  Some of my pots are just huge.  They really don't fit well in the sink.  They are the last catchup items, from falling behind on dishes... if others are still stacking up...  Perhaps tomorrow I can finish catching up!  Swelling or no, a good night of rest might make that possible.  Or... mostly.

So hungry, but I can't clean, or cook, or even stand.  Just putting tea on pretty much punches my ticket.

Oh, I had a dream.  In it, a voice in the dark was suggesting I shouldn't serve, or even try, now.  That I deserved to be served.  I had to laugh.  Oh, I don't agree, I just don't have much choice.  I have been humbled to the point where I can't serve, not even myself.  I have what the voice suggested I deserved, and only agree in that it creates a lot of humble pie.  Having to ask, and receive, what I don't have any right to do either, is a tough thing.  My pride?  Well, it's... I... there was no saving it.

If God wants a poverty fulfilled, He gets it.  All I wish is to serve, I told it.  As for deserts?  Perhaps, but not in the way it meant.  A humblement for a prideful doer?  Yea.  Further, I am not even allowed to suffer bitterly while trying to help.  I can't even do more than receive minor wounds while trying to work beyond my station.  I can't even break properly, or die like a good little soldier.  I suggested, if they could, they should serve.  Do it for me.  I laughed, oh did I laugh.  No reason to cry over a little spilled milk that has created a fine cheese?  Something like that.  Later, or good night.
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No, nothing on for tonight.  So very tired.  Ducks, a fatted coffee... maybe two... a bit of gaming as that goes down, then sleep.  Early... like an hour or two max.  I'm just trying to push sleep a bit, in the hopes I will sleep long... maybe even reset the day.  Good day... night...