Monday and I am awake quite early and set on doing something today. My partner brings me hot water and asks my plans. I have none really so we discuss the day and the options. I quickly check my messages and do my vitals before getting up to dress and make breakfast. I use my nhs app to order my next months drugs and smile at the thought that I could just order another hundred co-codamol, I resist the temptation and stick to my regular mix of drugs. My partner makes a face call to our youngest daughter and I get to “chat” to Maximus my youngest grandson. He is of course a delight despite having no language yet he is able to engage me with peek a boo and gurgling. With the catch up call done I prepare to accompany my partner to the gym, she to do Pilates and me to be somewhere other than the lounge at home. As it turns out I end up in the gym lounge indulging in berry tea and a bacon brioche bun before transposing a poem from yesterday from one of my journals to the electronic file. I share it here it for no other reason than I can really.
383
This is a bad day
after a poor night.
I’ve no energy at all
and everything is an effort.
I struggled to recall Ginsberg
and even more so Clematis.
As my tongue twists
around subdued synapse.
I don’t know why this occurs,
it springs like a wolf
sensing a lamb in trouble.
Co-codamol tempts me
but it’s a cowards way out.
I seek solace
by reclining with TV
and a mindless hope
for peace and quiet,
both in and out.
383 21st April 2024.
Its not a masterpiece but it does get some of the mundane stuff that goes on when these bad days hit me. Its the strange things like not being able to remember favourite poets names or the names of flowers in the garden that make me stumble. I find myself going through the alphabet to try and trigger recall, sometimes it works some times not, but eventually I always get there, its more a matter of dyslexic organisation rather than loss of memory. My pixies get confused at times and I can almost hear them slamming mental filing cabinet draws as they frantically search for where I put it down last. It’s worse on some days than others and seems to be most prevalent with names and proper nouns.
While sipping my berry tea I try to draft a letter of condolence to an old colleague whose husband has just died. I find it so difficult to find adequate words and the truth is there probably aren’t any. The funeral will be the day after my next oncology review and although I want to go to the funeral I have no idea how my review will go or whether the hospital will have contacted me about my appointment to sort out Uluru my bladder stone. I make a reasonable stab at it and file it to write out latter. I think such things should be hand written .
My partner returns to the gym lounge and we go for lunch at our usual garden centre. I am not feeling my best but when we get home I quickly write the letter I had drafted and take it to the post office where I also send another copy of a previously lost video letter. I pick up a paper and sweets and head for home where I do the crosswords and settle down for the evening. I start serious work on my Herod’s Children Crumulent Collection, which is a joint collection of competition failures and criticised works. I’ve dedicated it to Dyslexics and aspiring poets. The evening has a smattering of films and continued work on the collection, interrupted by a dish of filled pasta. I finally get to update the Tesco order adn take my night meds before going to bed. The builder badger doing our drive is coming at eight thirty in the morning to have a look at the roots that will need to be removed in order to relay the drive. It will be all go tomorrow from early on as my partner goes to work and people turn up to prepare for phase one of our building upgrade. Its about to become chaotic for at least three weeks.
