My head aches and I am feeling sorry for myself this morning. The weather is warm and muggy and I am soon due for my next series of injections. This is not a good combination. My brain feels like a roiling mass of dark angry clouds, grumbling thunder foretelling searing bolts of white hot agony. A tempest of hurt brewing. My mood a maelstrom sucking down any hint of joy. I am unwell and my soul laments ... there are pills that will send me into Morpheus's embrace where the storm can not reach me, but I have not had to resort to them in nearly 18 months. Surrender is bitter and I am not yet there. Blessed be my beloved brothers and sisters