Sunday Sunday la laaaaaa la la laaaaaa and the pile of ironing.

I woke up twice last night with a dry mouth. Proper dry to a point of gagging. Apparently it is a side effect of taking queteipine, but it has not happened before. But apart from that I am chilled, I have started to love Sundays.  It’s a day of radio, knitting and ironing.i am not a fan of ironing, however when I was poorly in April & May specifically the ironing pile grew and grew.

I will take this opportunity to record how much my husband actually done. He bathed, clothed and fed me. He held me and cried with me. He took over my art workshops to guarantee some kind of income and also to relieve the stress of letting people down that consumed me.So the only thing he did not do was iron. The ironing pile became this symbol of my grief and my darkness.  The unmovable mountain.

The Sunday I got out of bed with the one calm, focused thought that I must get through the ironing was the start of an overall clarity that I now have. This is mainly to do with taking the correct medication at the correct dose at the correct time. I will blog about what I feel the pros and cons of this are another time. That’s a book in itself! Anyhow, Barchester Towers on the radio, iron in hand, three hours later piles of clothes and bedding all pressed and folded. The sense of achievement was overwhelming. And that’s life at the minute. Small tasks are massive achievement s.

Happy Sunday.

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