Rainy day

View out the back door. The yard needs work but there is a passing thunderstorm so I’m keeping dry and watching a classic race from 2018 in the tour de France. At least the heat has gone. Its a good thing to I was shattered yesterday. Still tired now. I didn’t sleep well because of the humidity.

The madness continues my hubby is not happy. Grumpy. We are winding each other up in this weather. Even my feet feel tense. I have a low level tension running through me. All my muscles are tight. I feel like exploding. I think I will go out in the rain…..

Tomorrow is another day

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I will wait for the sun to rise and try and think of tomorrow as a new day, a different day.

I’m thinking about what I need to do, trying not to prevaricate, not to stick my head in the sand. In this time of lockdown it’s almost too easy to turn and face the wall and not let the world invade. So I shall sleep and try not to wake too early.

I hope that everyone out there in the big world is OK. Safe, as happy as they can be. Look after yourselves.

X

 

Whisky over ice

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Something to calm my toothache!

Lockdown means the dentists are closed and when they open they have said they will only take emergencies. So I’m sucking paracetamol (only the recommended dose) and slowly sipping some whisky. I also got some toothpaste for sensitive teeth. I think I’m grinding them when I’m asleep. I’ve got things I need to do and this, plus a family problem has made me feel very down in the dumps.

Still I can’t stick my head (or my teeth), in the sand. I will have to try and sort myself out tomorrow. Life goes on….

Russian vine

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I don’t have a photo, but this afternoon we removed what feels like miles of Russian vine from our hedge. I think it’s also called mile a minute. It’s also growing at the back of our garden, and bits of it have grown up the telephone wires and even into our shed!

It was hot outside, so we worked in the late afternoon as it started to cool down. The Russian vine is wraping itself round a couple of leylandii, up an old willow tree, into our walnut tree, and around the Holly tree. It’s tough stuff. We should dig out the roots, but it’s too entangled. So we are cutting through the largest vines, then you pull at it, and strands of vine twenty foot long come out of the hedge. Each vine splits into branching thinner pieces. The leaves are green and heart shaped. It looks like a nice plant when you get it. With small white bunches of flowers in the summer. The bees like it, but our privet hedge flowers and that is more pleasant than the vine.

Unless you have a massive garden don’t grow it!

People

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The door stands in the way. But I can hear people outside, running along the pavement, downhill, then up. A couple of car doors slam. An engine starts, quietly. I want to look out, but the door is firmly locked. It’s late. I could look out of the window, but that means parting the curtains, giving the game away.

A little later…. All is calm again, the mad thunder of feet has receded, I heard my bin lid thud down, but I’m not going to look. Possibly an old beer can? It’s happened before.

I don’t really like living with my front door on the pavement. I wish we had a front garden. There is a garden at the side of our house,iit’s ours, full of trees and bushes. Local people dump beer cans and fag packets in our hedge. Life, and people, have been quieter lately. But if I was put on a desert island I would be OK.

I spoke too soon, cars (with people in) crashing down  their gears, rushing to get up the hill. Sometimes they seem to race each other.

If, and when the lockdown ends, I will have to get used to people again.

On my shoulders

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The weight of the world,

making me creak,

making me break,

making me crumble and quake.

Pushing me down,

pushing me under,

finding a crack,

break me asunder.

Restricted and tight,

no room for movement,

shoulders so stiff,

I want to surrender.

Sleep is my safety,

sleep is my friend,

but like a lost child,

I cannot find peace.

Dreams do not come,

only a blackness,

to tired to think,

curled on my mattress.

One day I’ll wake,

free from this tension,

or I’ll be gone,

broken,

departed.