Not with a bang but a whimper

Outside is a magnificent sun-bright fall day. But I can't get to it. I can't move. This is my only productivity for the moment, a mountain of full tissues, just this morning's activity alone.

Thank you for the good wishes. I hold them to my heart and while I am not one whit better in body since I started the big-gun antibiotic three days ago, my spirit is full and grateful. I've put Glenn Gould's Goldberg Variations on Repeat and will lie here until something changes. Comments off until I can get a grip.