I realised when I woke up this morning that somehow I had slept for ten hours.
This left me marginally more refreshed than yesterday, but not much, and the day’s tasks have somehow been arduous again, perhaps I have got narcolepsy or something.
Some of the mystery was resolved this afternoon when I paid a visit to the doctor. This was not in order to whinge about feeling sleepy, it has only been happening for the last few days which we all know is not nearly long enough to have managed to arrange an appointment to see a GP. In fact I have had the appointment booked for ages, it was the not-terribly-interesting annual medication review for the hormone tablets that stop me becoming a terrifying elderly dragon, or at any rate that slow the process down a bit.
The GP said that I had lost ten kilos in weight since this time last year. I was pleased about this because it sounded like a very lot, and asked her if she could translate it into real weight that I could understand, being stones and pounds, obviously, but she was too young and couldn’t, so I looked it up when I got home and it is more than a stone and a half.
Anyway, she took my blood pressure and said that it was low, and wondered if I ever felt tired and dizzy.
I agreed that sometimes I do, especially when alcohol is involved, and she rolled her eyes and said that I ought to eat more often and not stand up too quickly.
I like advice like this and promised that I would pay attention.
There is, of course, nothing that you can do about low blood pressure so I am just getting on with life, and being glad that it is not high blood pressure which makes doctors suggest all sorts of unpleasant remedies, like eating and drinking less and not putting salt on chips.
After the GP I just carried on with my camper-van organising, which I am pleased to be able to tell you is almost at an end, at least in its current phase. There are still lots more things waiting in the van itself, but once this lot is done then at least I will be able to water the conservatory.
I am finding it very difficult because there are lots of things that I no longer want, but nevertheless am finding it uncomfortably difficult to throw away. This is quite a common difficulty and according to the mighty Internet, you can cure it by purchasing something called a Marie Kondo Notebook in which you are supposed to write down your aspirations for a tidier life.
I have already got enough clutter, and in any case I do not feel any need to waffle about my aspirations any more, having completely indulged that impulse on these pages. We all know by now that I want to turn the camper van into a gleaming brown walnut version of the Orient Express, but all the same it is difficult to manage.
There is, for instance, a small frying pan, almost unblemished, which I think probably I have never used. We have got a frying pan in the house and do not need another. I have put the frying pan on the table and scowled at it, but still cannot decide what I should do with it, and so it will continue to sit there until I have either managed to find steel in my soul, or caved in to my dreadful impulses towards hopeless clutter-collection.
I managed to throw away some cushion covers, which I felt was a small victory, but have not managed to resolve the problem of the potato masher nor the still-reasonable shirt which I always liked because it made me look thinner, but which I will probably never wear again now that I am thinner and it is hopelessly too big. Actually there are a lot of T-shirts. I don’t want any of them but they are not sufficiently worn to become dusters.
A trip to Age Concern might be the best outcome.
I wonder if they would like a frying pan and a nicely slimming T-shirt.
