Crashing

I think the most I can say about today is that I'm still here and it's nearly over. I couldn't get to sleep last night - heard three strike before I attained unconsciousness - largely, I think, because of the home-made soup we had for yesterday's lunch. It was delicious, but very, very green and maybe a tad demanding ... and then dinner was a bit late ... and I felt what I might describe as gonflée - blown up like a tyre. So I woke exhausted, which meant that the panic mode had a field day before I diverted myself with other people's blips over my tea.

I managed to hang out a couple of washings in the morning, including the new towels that had just come after weeks of waiting. (They've come in all bouncy and smelling of fresh air, which is lovely). I tried to do some forward planning for my trip, mainly to do with clothes. I spent a longish time Face-Timing my pal. And then I began to feel very ... challenged; I had toast and a banana for lunch and fell asleep in a chair. It was after 4pm before I'd roused myself to walk to the post office with a parcel; that, I'm afraid, is the only exercise I've had all day. 

Tomorrow I'm supposed to be joining a video link to Diocesan Synod in Oban; if I weren't going away next week I might have chanced it, though I don't really feel like shutting myself up with a bunch of people from all over Covid-rampant Argyll and the Isles. However, I've let myself get behind and won't be able to sit at my computer all day. We'll see how that pans out.

In the meantime, a blip of desperation: the view from the chair in which I kept falling asleep this afternoon. The pictures on the wall include several which mean a lot to me - a random bunch from Glasgow, Argyll, Brittany, Kizhi Island on Lake Ladoga, Cumbrae, the Kyles of Bute ... I keep adding to this strange, squint wall and then feel I can't do without any of them. The Russian doll came with Voskresenije many years ago; will we ever see and hear them again?

And then a whole population on the move again, on the screen, in my sitting room - the nightly reminder of war. And I thought of feeling poorly and forcing yourself on through the shelling and the fear in a seemingly doomed flight. And the brave women arrested for protesting in Moscow, in St Petersburg ... 


Slava Ukraini.