The Morning After (the days before)

After yesterday’s bout of mat wrestling**, a fitful nights sleep is hotly pursued by an achingly battered and bruised Sinna Luvva’s emergence into the grey light of day. Lower limbs feel like they’re struggling through a vat of leaden sludge, and that’s simply the effort of releasing themselves from the duvet lair.

There’s no need to pinch me to check that I’m awake, rather than dreaming; every muscle and joint cries out to affirm the fact. I ache therefore I am.

At least every other day, for the past fortnight, has found yours truly engaged in performing some minor horticultural task. It’s quite surprising really, how much nurturing goes into the establishment and nurturing of the wildlife friendly area of the garden; even the transplanting of inappropriately self-rooted wildflowers, from cultivated to a more suitable site proves quite time and effort consuming.

On more than one occasion I’ve managed to overdo it; pacing isn’t quite as straightforward as I’d wish it to be. Although I recognize my limitations of physical and emotional stamina, it’s almost as if a little inner demon assures me that any perspirational endeavour that proves enjoyable can’t possibly have an ill effect.

Although I should know better, I still fall victim to the demon’s ploy. The spirit may be willing but, it’s the weakened flesh that pays the price. An increased tetchiness, and fog-befuddled thought processes, sits uncomfortably alongside the pains and aches that flesh is heir to.

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** for those readers who don’t follow / click on hyperlinks, I hasten to assure you that I have not taken up a new contact sport. The link is to my posting ‘The Heart Of The Matter’ on ‘Mal’s Murmurings’