Got up late, did nothing, dreamed in front of daytime TV. I was in Dublin, I lost my trousers in an argument about disabled toilet facilities and after several setbacks I set off to walk home, realising that I had lost my sticks but could walk fine without them. Before you ask, I had my wallet in my jacket pocket and was able to use my driving license to get on the ferry.
I am aware that dreams of lacking trousers may be associated with all sorts of things, but in the dream I had excellent legs and was positively flaunting the catheter. Under-confidence does not seem to have been an issue.
Found three new ways of messing up the process of strapping the bag on. One had uncomfortable consequences, but this is a blog not a medical text book so I won’t add more detail.
Iris at Mencap Gardens
Anticoagulant clinic rang to check on me because the hospital had failed to liaise with them.
Julia has just arrived home. We are now going to have a cup of tea. This is the most interesting thing to happen today if you disregard the uncomfortable consequences mentioned a couple of paragraphs above.
With a day of low activity it is difficult to reach my 250 word target and, even with padding, I am struggling to reach the limit. I have 25 words to go. twenty two now. It can be very difficult writing that sort of sentence because, of course, as you write it, you become wrong as the word count changes.
Yellow Flags
I may be back later because the urge to write could return.
On the other hand, I have poetry to submit and nothing actually finished, with just one day to go before the end of the submission window and nothing finished. This could be my most unproductive patch in the last three or four years.
Iris. One of my favourite flowers.
