My soul is dying, Yet my body lives on, somehow, despite all efforts. A revenant? A zombie? We'll find out soon!
ETA: my soul is dyeing too. Used to be blond-ish like mine, now it's goth/emo jet black with some blue streaks. I am embarrassed for it. It also wears an ankh and is into The Cure.
Besides a bad pancreas, I was diagnosed, seriously, with meibomian blepharitis. I haven't told anyone this, except family, friends, and strangers. I have set up a paypal account, for those wishing to help.
As do I. My story is too Dickensian for all right now. I'd tell it, you'd cry, and I would still have a headache. Dear friends, please forgive me for not responding to you. I've had terrible headaches and I am a bit hesitant to write .
I think we can gauge my Zumba coordination display by the participants and instructor saying "it was great that you tried," including a 95 year old woman. That was just lovely.
I can dance, just not Zumba. Never again. Ever.
Scrofula, you're thinking of a Roomba,which is a spying device disguised as a vacuum.