Rainy days are easier

Sunny days just lead to solar powered sadness and a diet of baked potatoes.

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I’m writing this article on my phone, which is not a thing I do.

I’m old fashioned (emphasis on the “old") and feel like an article deserves to be typed up on a computer, wearing my Linda Belcher-esque glasses, while coffee shop ambient music plays in the background.

I’m writing this on my phone because I can’t sit up for more than 30 seconds without wanting to pass out or vomit.

I’m writing this on my phone because even though all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sob from the pain, I have thoughts I need to get out on “paper".

Rainy days are easier to handle when you have chronic illness.

Rainy days eliminate the possibilities of those activities you find yourself longing to do, knowing damn well your body won’t allow it.

When it’s raining, staying in and watching endless Bob’s Burgers reruns on the couch isn’t sad — it’s a vibe (as the kids say).

Sunny days are just another reminder that I can’t be who I used to be.

I can’t go for a run at sunrise.

I can’t take a walk to the clam shack down the road for a lobster roll and a beer.