The plan: We’d be at Sunflowerfest. I had Little House on the Prairie type visions of us, en famille, running through fields of flowers on our way to the Enchanted Glade, or the wood, or the mystery lake. We’d be having a fun, bonding, time. Faces would be painted, shoulders massaged, energies aligned. We’d eat local artisan food and buy hand crafted gems. We’d wear festival armbands, face the combined challenge of children and portaloos, and listen to music. Best of all in this plan, we’d be spending time with A and J and Dawnriser. Dawnriser’s wristband would be a fancy ‘performer’ one. We’d be proper festival folk.
The reality: We’re at home. Dawnriser is performing without our cheers. Spurs Fan is painting. Girls are playing outside. Just a regular day. No festival fun for us. Why? Because I’m in bed. My limbs feel like they’re wrapped in lead. I can’t get comfortable- lying one way, then the other, sitting up, moving pillows and cushions around. It’s too early to take more painkillers.
My brain has too much cotton wool to be able to read. I opened a book and spent 10 minutes reading and reading the first papragraph. I have no idea what it was about. I’ll try again tomorrow. Earlier, in a trail attempt at getting up, I had coffee and read a magazine article about the wonder that is David Tennant. That was easy- I was highly motivated and it was glossy, undemanding fluff. The many pictures helped too.
If I try to get up again I’ll have to talk to people or fight for control of the TV. A kiddie filled front room with the Disney Channel and tales of all the activities of the Build-a-Bears would not help right now.
So I’m here. Bed. Lead. Brain dead.
I’d so much rather be skipping amongst the sunflowers.