I was sick yesterday, was sick in the sort of way that makes one droopy and useless, overly sensitive and unreliable for anything but draping oneself across surfaces and waiting for some lost thing to return.
This is not how I like to be–not the me who has built a life and a self on the concept of usefulness, and how lacking that hurts more than the headache, the sore throat, the physical pain. But then again, though lacking–still my daughter wants to hug me, and still my son wants to tell me about his day.
Today’s prompt: What happens when we see past our initial sense of what something is? Today, write about something ugly but find beauty in it.