Days drawing out

It's 5pm and it isn't yet dark. Twilight is drifting softly among the trees and Victorian brick walls that I can see from my large window. The air is still and cold, possibly a prelude to the snow that is currently hovering in thick cold clouds somewhere above the UK. A severe weather warning has been issued. I hope the tiny, new plants in the garden survive.

By 6.30pm yesterday, I was so tired that I could barely move. I made my way to the sofa, lay down and dozed. Later, after dinner, I lay on the new mattress, amid a pile of cushions, and tried to read a biography that had enthralled me a few days ago. This time, through no fault of the book, I managed three pages and put it aside. If I hadn't needed to wash my hair, I would have sneaked under the covers then and there but the thought of waking up with on-the-turn locks was uninviting. S saw me staring at nothing in particular when he came to see where I was. He told me to go to bed as soon as possible, adding that he didn't like seeing me so tired. I don't like seeing him worried... It was funny, I needed to be told to go to bed to generate the energy necessary to make the required movements to get to the bathroom and back.

Today is filled with distractions. I can't concentrate but feel a tad better. No headache, just aching shoulders. S is out doing sporting things this evening so it means I can work a little longer – long enough to make me feel as though I have accomplished something, anyway.