Sixty-one

I give thanks for clouds like mountain ranges on the horizon yesterday, and for a parcel of books and pampering hand cream from Ann.

I give thanks for not having a shelf put up specially for the stereo as it doesn't work just as well on the bookcase as it would have anywhere else. Oh poop. I suspect it's a wiring thing inside so I shall just leave it where it is and dream of a visitor with a soldering iron and listening to some old tunes...

I give thanks for some sleep, eventually, but oh I wanted more and wish either my body or my schedule would allow it. I'd hoped to pop to the shops but there was too much else to do. I give thanks for cobbling together some lunch and tea - these being the most essential tasks and for the most of the boxes being taken away. For moments of interest glimpsed from the taxi windows - a cocker spaniel accompanying a man on a mower, spring flowers by the roadside, the clever but scary digger style machine in the woods that picks up felled trees, strips the branches and cuts into lengths. For nice shortbread with my cup of tea.

I give thanks dealing with great fatigue and much pain as best I can, and all the niggling struggles physical and otherwise that are making life such hard going at the moment. I give thanks the nurse finally managed to stem the flow of blood when the needles came out and I could set off for home. My arm is so sore I don't want to type any more. I give thanks when I've posted this I can let it have a rest.