Man, I was just about to go to sleep - yes, at 8:30 - when I remembered that I hadn't written in this blog yet. So by virtue of my tiredness this will be a short post.
Actually, fuck it. I am going to sleep. A good ten hours should nip this exhaustion nicely in the bud.
The worst thing is, I'm in a really good mood. Things are going really well - incredibly well, in fact. But I guess I haven't quite shaken this illness just yet. This news isn't quite as devastating as it once was. I've passed the point of devastation and have become philosophical about this cycle of hope and disappointment. I suppose it's easy to be philosophical, to accept the shitty things, when you feel like everything else is good, when the rest of life seems to be giving you a big ol' hug. Or, I guess, when you have stopped building your life around the one thing your body won't let you do. It's safe to say cycling doesn't mean the same to me as it did a year ago. That's probably a good thing.
Probably? Definitely.
I'm not making any sense.
I'm going to sleep now.
Night.
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