If this isn't Covid it's an extremely weird and nasty cold. Yesterday and the day before I took tests, both negative. I will try again tomorrow before the meeting, because this really is quite a dramatic beast. It's just like R's and he has tested positive, so...
One bizarre thing is how randomly thirsty I am.
The meeting. If nothing has changed tomorrow, I'll contact the chair and see if some zoom arrangement can be made. Not that I will have much to say apart from 'by dose hurts,' but still moral support and all that.
First snow of the year last night. I don't much fancy the thick ice that's covering the road and pavement, I'm too achey to go fill the bird feeders, my hips really hurt. We have a big bin of sand somewhere, but he's too ill to cover the pavement in it and so am I. It's a thing that will have to wait. Everything can wait.
Is this what old age is like? If so, let's face it, as older ladies go, I am not going to be one of those stoic magnificent types who bring wondrous broth when the wind howls, and heaps the kindly fire with logs from the wood. There are worse fates than telling tales to the trees (https://rimastaines.com/shop/p/telling-stories-to-the-trees-print) but I suspect I will need light and heat and lots of it. My idea of growing old is to bask in a sunlit square with tapas and a crisp white wine, listening to a piano playing in a room somewhere before I go on some expedition up the Nile or down the Delta. I will always call it 'my last adventure,' but it never will be.
The thought of it cheers me up.
[Edited to add] Just made myself some scorching strong coffee. It tastes like tobacco. Pretty sure this is Covid.
One bizarre thing is how randomly thirsty I am.
The meeting. If nothing has changed tomorrow, I'll contact the chair and see if some zoom arrangement can be made. Not that I will have much to say apart from 'by dose hurts,' but still moral support and all that.
First snow of the year last night. I don't much fancy the thick ice that's covering the road and pavement, I'm too achey to go fill the bird feeders, my hips really hurt. We have a big bin of sand somewhere, but he's too ill to cover the pavement in it and so am I. It's a thing that will have to wait. Everything can wait.
Is this what old age is like? If so, let's face it, as older ladies go, I am not going to be one of those stoic magnificent types who bring wondrous broth when the wind howls, and heaps the kindly fire with logs from the wood. There are worse fates than telling tales to the trees (https://rimastaines.com/shop/p/telling-stories-to-the-trees-print) but I suspect I will need light and heat and lots of it. My idea of growing old is to bask in a sunlit square with tapas and a crisp white wine, listening to a piano playing in a room somewhere before I go on some expedition up the Nile or down the Delta. I will always call it 'my last adventure,' but it never will be.
The thought of it cheers me up.
[Edited to add] Just made myself some scorching strong coffee. It tastes like tobacco. Pretty sure this is Covid.