Tuesday and I wake up as my partner goes to work, so I go through my cyber morning routine, where I find nothing of import or interest really. I send a couple of WhatsApp messages and then get dressed having decided to go for breakfast in the village café. I walk down and buy a paper before going to the café and ordering their breakfast, the two of everything variety, and a hot chocolate. The breakfast is delicious and satisfying. The cross word goes okay but I alter over two clues. I become aware that I need a toilet and as our village café does not have one so I head home. Half way through the journey I realise I was searching for the word “stench” for “smell”, which then unlocked the European country I was searching for, “Hungry”. I must have cut an odd figure as I stood still on the pavement and filed in the clues there and then in case I forgot my revelations.
Once home and comfortable I do the other crossword and settle down to do the odd chore. My body is not comfortable and I find I think I have blood in my urine again. I take time out to have a rest and listen to some meditation sounds via Alexa. So I spend an uncomfortable day getting more and more irritated with myself. In the end I get myself up into the loft and find the painting my partner remembered from our trip to Paris in 2003ish. Its a small but rather lovely as it has caught the light well.
I take more time out to rest and drink water before starting to draft the blog. But now I prepare to talk to the Americans about my book publication. That will be fun holding them off till I see the “product”.
The bastards cancelled as their “publishing expert had to deal with an emergency and cannot be in the office today”. So its out off till tomorrow or the day after. I feel like this is a run around and I am tempted to just walk away. I will give it to the end of the week and then reassess where I am with this. So tonight I seethe a bit, take paracetamol to dampen my discomfort and look forward to an evening of mixed football and a double bill Silent Witness. I am not amused, neither am I patient nor content. In fact spikey and pissed off is where I am, although I did remember to order my next lot of drugs including Mondays injection. No end to the fun. I might just retrieve my humour with an alcohol free rum and coke and a poem about my transatlantic relationship, which could well include the the phrase “fuck ’em”, a lot. It will all end in night meds and bed with the hope that tomorrow is better.
