Pyramus

Or, contrariwise, Thisbe.

I appear, Gentle Readers, to have hit a wall. I don't know if it's The Wall, but I do know that today I'm not tired: I'm exhausted.

Really? Yes, really: I'm hungry, teary, confused, panicky, utterly uncoordinated, and pretty much all out of juice.

Today was going to be about how I'm managing to balance work, poetry, home life, and exercise. Whooo! Instead, it's going to be more along the lines of: lots of things went wrong over the past ten days, and I coped with them, Doing Everything as I did so, until I could no longer take on any more crap, and broke.

Oh walls.

I suspect that there's a lesson to be learned here (about who, when, and how to ask for help, and how and when to say No), but - until I've slept like a child whose fever has just broken, I'm not going to be able to grasp it, let alone share it coherently.

In other, more positive news: my physio is impressed with me, and has a solution for the pins and needles in the Arm of Doom (otherwise known as the left one - it's doubly sinister... haha! Help me, I need sleep...). Happily, this does not include stopping using free weights, which is what I'd assumed she'd say.

Right, I've now eaten a crapload of mashed potato, bacon, leek, cheese, and whatever else was in that lovely meal. I've had my final Gold Bar (none left in the house now - I made them last for well over a month), and now I'm finding my Kindle and going to bed.

So goodnight unto you all.