Saturday seems a while ago now as it was a day of chores, sport and poems. I knew as I woke up that it was going to be a slow day, thee are days when I know that I am going to be low on energy spoons. So I do my vitals and get up for breakfast. and then potter around puttering for a while. My partner and eldest daughter go off to see the Amy Whinehouse film and I get my washing on the go adn settle down to an afternoon of TV sport. Part way through the afternoon am moved to write a poem and take time out to do that. There is work to do on the next two collections but that must wait until next week. Clearly the sport did not hold my attention as I end up reading the meters and submitting the readings before once again returning to the sport.

Although I am not doing much I can feel my energy seep away but still get my washing dried and put away by the time the evening comes around. There is a meal to eat and films to eat and eventually meds to take. This was a thoroughly sedentary day with little brain feeding going on. It makes for a boring blog but at times this is how it is, just trying to keep myself safe. It is the theme of the poem that I wrote in the morning.

385
It’s a new lifestyle,
drive there,
sit there,
drive back. 
Its containment 
of this wicked disease. 
Life has become a series
of short episodes of entertainment 
and contact beyond the family.
Each trip holds risks
but the harvest is a feast
of food for the brain 
as life stops being physical 
and becomes cerebral. 
Once a month I wrap myself 
in poets.
Their words and reading
the best of food,
the discussion the sweetest source.
It is this dining 
that fattens me 
and sees me through 
the lean times. 
In between courses  
friends send me books
so my feet up recoveries 
are picknicks, sometimes snacks. 
This is how I out wait
the waiting lists, 
the endless English queuing
politely understanding the pressures
and the fact that everyone 
is trying their best.
So here I lay  
browsing and grazing
hankering after a rowing machine
and clear urine 
to reassure me 
that I can stretch 
the survival 
curve. 

								385 27-04-2024

 

Sunday start is a reminder that drinking coffee keeps me awake at night. I got up several times in the night unable to sleep and listened to the incessant rain. I was tempted once or twice to see if my improvised down pipe was holding up but resisted the temptation trusting to the my creativity and the power of gaffer tape. I did eventually get a block of sleep during which I know I dreamt fitfully. My partner makes hot drinks and we chat about plans for the day. I get up and have breakfast whilst recording my weight, which has flattened out around 101 kilos. This increase in weight is a major frustration adn caused by my not training. Until the I can get my bladder stone sorted and I can excise without experiencing haematuria (blood in the urine) my weight is going to be a battle. That of course is compounded by my sweet tooth.

My partner and I go to the garden centre to buy food for the rest of the weekend and until Tesco deliver on Tuesday. Its a quick go and come back trip, before I catch up with the blog and some more sport. It lunch and onwards for me as I continue to plan more collections of poems and find time to read.

I slip into the evening with a meal and then an evening of TV before drafting the blog. My final acts of this slothful day is to take my night meds and a prophylactic co-codalmol. It is my monthly jab at the GP surgery tomorrow at 9am so I am going to be busy with making sure the drive is clear for the builder badgers when they arrive at 8am. I am hoping that an early night will see me right.