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Time Is Marching On. I Must Go To Bed And Read Before It Marches Out.
How obscure. My main aim today has been to go to bed early and read. Now, it is 3 minutes past 10 and it is no longer early. It is still possible to enjoy the thought of going to bed though despite it being so late, because tomorrow is Saturday. I am only required at My Mother's House at 3pm for tea, until then, I am not going to get up. No. Perhaps I will teeter around getting my breakfast, and running a bath, but will have a fit of the collywobbles if I see any of my Household that May Want Something. I intend to be a Slugabed. Big Time.
Today I did the second of the Angel Workshops at the St Barnabas Hospice where Steve died, and it makes me tired and a bit lonely. I loved being there but I could see the room where Steve died and I wanted to stop the workshop and say Look! Just over there Steve died, in that bed there! How do you feel about that? Do you want me to tell you about it? Shall we go through it all step by step? OK? But I didn't, all the day patients are on that journey and will end up being danced out of life by the wonderful hospice staff before too long. The Angel Painting was wonderful though. I think that so many of us know our Angels, they live with us. Two of the men there painted their wives as their Angels.
After the hospice, I collected Flo From Boston and California from Bognor Station. She has come for the weekend and is as pretty as I remember her. Flo is on her way to Italy, and as all good travellers do, she is stopping by Bognor Regis en route. Makes sense. Flo was 16 when I met her six years ago, and a very good artist then. She is still a very good artist and has now got a degree and a whole life ahead of her. She is asleep on the sofa downstairs because every bed I possess is taken up by People Who Live Life To The Full, even the Silent Pole who lives in my spare room. He came out today and Talked! We all liked that very much and Flo must have been the reason, she really is very pretty. Paralysed by tiredness, and very pretty.
Oh Well. I did an Oh Well Angel after Steve died, and sold it to a depressive. Oh Well. I am going to bed now, to read. I must remember that tomorrow, apart from being Saturday, is another day. Tomorrow Is Another Day, say the Philosophers. And I agree with them. It is indeed. And it is a Saturday.
She is pretty but also knows strange and interesting words in Polish (none of which I remember), like how to say dishwasher rack.
ReplyDeleteThanks for letter her surf on your couch. (and inspiring her to be the painter that she is).