I've noticed a reluctance to blog at the moment, and I think it's because it reminds me of being depressed, and the hours I spent here at the kitchen table. I didn't blog yesterday, but spent most of the day dozing after my guests had left. We had a splendid weekend doing nothing except eating and drinking, which was lovely. On Sunday, we went to a pub with some more friends - I had the roast beef, which I always have, and it was delicious. We all came back here for coffee. Lo and behold, it was then time for drinks in the evening.
Today, I have therapy, which I'm not looking forward to particularly - I'm very tired still. I think one has to be in good nick to undergo therapy as it's so testing. I've cancelled my afternoon appointment.
It's back to bed, I think, and an attempt to sleep.
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?