Post 513: A return to a little home-work and a salmon supper.
Starting at the end and not the start I had a great time with som U3a homework set for everyone’s entertainment; this week it was the creative writing group asking for a short story about a journey, any journey.
Well it got me thinking but being that I’ve not much creativity indeed it’s the one thing is missing from my writing tool kit. So I struggled to make any headway on the story till I focused on it later on when I got to bed. I’ll “ps” it at the end of this post.
I was hungry again today and my bouncing weight has bounced back up to 11st 11lbs and that’s mostly because of Haribos and fruit.
I remembered not to take the on/off doses of Digoxin depending on my heart rate.
Seeing as my heart rate is still low and still under 60bp I’ll give it up as I was told to.
My crying has stopped and I seem to be in good shape but I’m always frustrated. Lots of things drive me mad and I wish I had more energy around the house. It seems like I’m relegated to making a mess and unless it’s washing up I can’t do anything.
I stripped the pillow cases off my Darlings bed in a vein attempt to find the beast of the bedroom. Even when I struggled upstairs with Mr vicious he wanted out and took no interest in my test about whether he knew about any critters he might have dropped into the house. It’s not something he does but worth a try.
After clearing the bed I was tired and because it’s a divan I had no hope of moving it. I just left it for my Darling to approve the fact that there is nothing there and she could not be fearful of sleeping on it. Well it was all I could do.
I can barely bend now with pains each side of my back and I’m trying to see if it’s just that I need more pain relief and as have plenty of potions I’ll try to find a level that’s workable for movement without turning me into a shaky forgetful idiot, which it will in in time.
Until then I will say good night.
Take care and sleep well.
Happy landings.
PS
Here’s the story about a journey. Don’t be too harsh I’m not an expert…
As I stood still, waiting quietly, the clock above me in the kitchen was ticking louder and louder as the afternoon wore on, and a certain someone wasn’t ready yet.
I had already showered and m; I guess the cologne I’d sprayed on earlier was wearing off, where stubble was pushing through my chin in time-honoured fashion.
I was fiddling with the black-and-silver car fob nervously, ready to get going as driver, while I waited for my significant other to blow-dry her hair to death, then spray on that beautiful but expensive Daisy fragrance I bought—and love so much.
When finally she comes down the stairs she’s looking as if we’re off to a wedding, I open the great big red front door and follow my Darling out towards the car, over grass-edged stepping stones that are not at all suitable for high-heeled footwear. Perhaps I should have worn trainers—boom boom!
The doors unlock automatically; we both sink into the comfortable new seats, engulfed in the scent of this super-luxury car we only bought recently.
With barely a sound and hardly any effort at the wheel, the car glides off our concrete driveway and onto the road, where plenty of other motorists fight for their share of tarmac alongside all the potholes. At least it’s not wet today—otherwise it would be a game of pothole roulette. We continue and head for the much smoother bypass.
After a few miles of silence, I pull to the huge car park with its white and red barriers standing between us and our appointment. We pass through and collect a ticket—but no £200 for passing ‘Go’, just a quiet sigh that we’re here again.
We get out of the car and this time hold hands tightly, as if we might lose each other walking down the long corridors with shiny grey flooring and daylight flooding in through side windows.
I give my details to a cheerful receptionist, who directs us to a waiting area where my Darling and I sit down on decidedly uncomfortable chairs.
It’s only now that I feel the heat rising inside me; my hand in hers is damp with sweat. A door squeaks open behind us, and a smartly dressed figure invites us in to deliver the news just like an executioner: “you have cancer”.
In one sharp second my heart stops and I can’t feel or see anything. Sadly, this journey has reached its end.
Thank you
