Sunday 3rd December 2017
Sunday 3rd December 2017
0110hrs: finding the words to describe what happened when I woke after two hours sleep, is problematical. For the grey-cells had gone off on their own again, making anything logical or coherent hard to decipher for the first hour or so. Even remembering parts of that first sixty-minutes was a right fertummelt.
Without removing my mass from the £300 second-hand recliner, I know I played with the mobile phone to get it working again, no idea what I was doing of course, but it seems to be working alright now?
I found myself in the kitchen, not realising how I got in there, or even why I went in, apparently in a rush… I think. So I put the kettle on and took the medications.
As I went to do the Health Checks, the book was already filled in with this morning’s readings? Odd or what?
I spent some time on the Porcelain Throne, got through a few chapters of the book. A good clean up after another messy session and wiped surfaces, door knobs, taps with the antiseptic wipes.
Back in the main room, to find no signs of any nocturnal nibbling, notwithstanding my not having eaten any meal yesterday, or anything this morning? Yet there were plenty of nibbles unopened on the Ottoman. I had notes scribbled on both notepads, but they were beyond deciphering. The earlier ones about the nightmare were eligiblish, though.
The cover on the chair was in disarray, a pen and the torch on the floor. The brain seemed to be operating again, although slowly and the memory was not good.
I made another cup of tea and decided to finish off the Saturday post, which I did. Then started creating graphics headers for the next few days diaries. This took me over six hours, as I was determined to make some interesting ones. Three trips to the Throne needed while doing this task. I wish Trotsky Terence would make his mind up.
Back to the kitchen to make another mug of tea.
Pondered on what to have to eat later, but could not make my mind up.
Finally, well after 0930 hrs, I got the Graphics finished and started on this post.
First time for ages, I felt a little peckish and thought I’d have a banana. Went into the kitchen again and found they were not ripe yet, still green from Tuesday when they were delivered. I’d left them in the window near the heater, thinking this might ripen them up a bit. But, no.
Made yet another small mug of tea. I’m drinking a lot, but not eating much?
Depression came over me, and I have not the foggiest idea why?
I decided to go on WordPress Reader and see what the other bloggers are posting and have a good perusal of them.
Went on Facebook next.
Got off of it three hours later Tsk!
Got the fodder sorted, Decided on Scottish buttered bread, red cheddar cheese, potato-letters, crispy bacon and franks. Sliced tomatoes with balsamic vinaigrette? Hope I can eat it, cause I just don’t feel too hungry? Odd this, the tooth pain eases off after it came out, and now I still can’t get any desire for fodder!
Left a bit of it uneaten, and did not really enjoy what I did nibble?
Fell asleep and the phone rang again and woke me, I ignored it this time.
Duodenal Donald suddenly kicked off, in no uncertain terms.
The sheer pain stopped me getting off to sleep again. Got up and washed the pots. Did the Health Checks, took the medications, tried to read the Erskine Quint book, had a wee-wee and turned the TV on, that did it, I fell asleep.
I knew I’d had some terrible dreams, but no details remained in the grey cells.
Jumped awake, in need of the Porcelain Throne, but just wind, wet and blood arrived? I sensed this was not good.
Back to the recliner and as I settled, I knocked the mug of orange juice off of the Ottoman. Extracting myself from the clutches of the £300 second-hand recliner to fetch a cloth, I stubbed my toe and knocked the camera off of the same Ottoman.
At this stage, bits of the earlier dream returned, why I don’t understand. But I was operating on someone in surgery and could not find the pen in their stomach, they had swallowed, and felt very guilty and sad, this transferred to my current situation instantly, and a depression of grand proportions dawned.
Got the cleaning up done, robotically.
The bloke upstairs was banging about again, as he had been doing on and off all day too.
Dizzy Dennis paid a short visit as I settled once again.