If you were a kid and caught Chicken Pox at some point, you are liable to re-encounter the disease when it re-invents itself as Shingles later on in your life.  Shingles is adult Chicken Pox redux.  You don’t catch Shingles, you already had it in the form of a dormant virus. It’s part of you.  And then it wakes up and kicks the crap out of you.

But, it doesn’t really matter how it all happens, it is simply mildly horrible.  I say mildly because many people suffer much worse diseases and it is only polite and respectful to acknowledge that.  But, between you and me, Shingles is Hell.

I should know.  I reacquainted myself with my virus about five days ago and, it seems, it intends to stay on for awhile.  A couple of weeks they say.  Feeling like I am gonna die has cut into my expressive side. The whinging has increased but that’s about it.  I don’t really have much to write about.  There’s the pain. Then there’s the nausea.  And, of course, there’s more pain with more nausea every day as a recurring bonus.  Shingles is not only Hell, it is boring hell.

At our age, we are more susceptible to this sort of nonsense.  Aging, eh?  What’s not to like?

I’ll write again.  I will.  I know I will.  But not right now.  Not for awhile.  No one wants 1000 words of mewling and whinging.  I am sure you understand.