The sun has once again emerged with a vengeance, so I remain most of the time in the house, curtains drawn, and unable to think of what I could be doing. I’ve yet to make a start on my ‘concentration’ exercises; neither trying to get back into a reading habit nor, starting the editing of my proposed PDF publication, has occurred.
Even in my healthier days of yore, I was never a sun worshipper; these days, even my limited levels of activity are grinding to a halt, as the monotony of hot and humid days seem like they’re trying to squeeze subcutaneous fat out through my pores.
Brief visits to the pond, to feed the fish and, when necessary, top up and treat the water, have become something of a chore rather than a pleasant routine. Even under the shade of a pond-side parasol, ten minutes of relaxation seems a very long time as I observe the antics of the piscine inhabitants. Late evening is the most pleasant time to be out in the garden but, by then the fishes feeding times have long since passed. I long for cooler days, just as much as the parched garden yearns for rain.
If it wasn’t for the weather, what would us Brits have to talk about?
- living and frequently struggling with moderate M.E. -
where (bad) health, faith, politics and the joys and troubles of daily life collide.
ME
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