If the Sun Refused to Shine

As I'm feeling better,  I'm wondering if I have become the Corona version of that gnarly looking cat in Pet Sematary.  I have jacked-up issues, times when my legs and knees don't work or feel like they could just fall off like zombie parts.  There is a sensation that I just came back from the dead.  No matter how much primping, I still look disheveled. Think, Phyllis Diller on a bender.  I hope it's not obvious. But more importantly, I hope it's not permanent.  

I forget, is anything permanent?  No, was the verdict the last time I checked but I don't think my love for some things will ever change, like spaghetti.  I've never not loved spaghetti.   This time I served it with my leftover chicken cacciatore.   I'm not supposed to eat white flour products because they can give me horrible headaches but when they don't, there's not many foods that have made me so happy for so long.  But then again, I'm not right.    

Reviving your surplus is perfect for when you feel like a character out of a Stephen King book.