So much for losing weight - I wrapped myself around a quarter pounder and fries at lunchtime, and consequently think I may never eat again. The house is clean and tidy, but I still have a couple of things to do before my friends arrive on Saturday. The washing is hanging up to dry over the Rayburn. I'm still in pjs, but so what?
The weather is awful, and I hate the dark days - they give me a glimpse of depression, so I put the SAD lamp on. It will be even worse when the clocks go back this weekend - it'll be dark by 5pm and the long winter evenings will stretch into the distance. I'm very tired now, thanks to a rotten night, but must somehow stay awake until a decent time to go to bed. It's Holby, which I'll record, and the final of the Great British Bake Off, which I've become rather hooked on.
My hands are slowly getting better, but still look worse than they actually are. I must make some phone calls.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?