It’s been a nice, quiet, do-nowt sort of week, and yet it’s also not bee a waste of a week.
I failed to get to the cricket on Sunday (Still too ill) but spent Saturday to Thursday recharging at Best Friend’s house, wherein we did bugger all other than cook elaborately delicious meals (Any day where you have a chocolate, brandy and brazil nut suet pudding for breakfast is going to be a good day), listen to Yorkshire utterly destroying Hampshire on the last two days of the county cricket, watch The Battle Of Britain, and generally chatter nonsense. I don’t think we’d physically seen each other for about a month.
Next week, or over the next couple of weeks, I’m back to busy and depressing; 19th is a meeting of the local Labour party that I should go to, but will probably be basically mourning, 20th is seeing my GP about a referral, 21st is shoulder physio at StJ, where hope against hope I might get to see Carmilla again, then the 28th is a set of ultrasounds – Pelvic, abdominal and transvaginal. I am not looking forward to them, and in fact I am positively shitting myself over them.
So, to counteract this, I have booked my motorcycle CBT for the 30th, starting at 7.45 in the morning. I don’t particularly want a big, fast, powerful bike, I just want something to get me from A to B without using up immense amounts of fuel. And possibly to get me up to Whitby. A little mini-cruiser, or a commuter bike, would suit me down to the ground – Maybe even a Super Cub, if I’m feeling completely whimsical. But more likely a Suzuki GN or a Honda CG or similar, or one of the many similar-looking, -sounding and -handling Japanese 125s.
To this end, I’m going back to work – £20 so far this week (A grand total of about half an hour of work) and planning to increase the amount as much as possible without starting to resent working again. And I’m going to keep swimming, even though it’s exhausting, because that’ll keep me fit enough to be safe on a bike.
I refuse to let EDS be the be-all and end-all of me.