Blackberry of Flourish

That was a night that didn't go well. This time I woke up at 3 after 3 hours of sleep, and realized almost at once that I'd never be able to go back to sleep. My stomach was hurting quite a bit, and I was generally uncomfortable and disconsolate. I had the usual disturbing dreams, this time about being stuck in an unpleasant scene of war with no good options. I stayed up until it got light, and then went back to bed and slept for another three hours. At that point there was too much light. It sneaks into my head and tickles my brain. So I got up, but it was too late to do much of anything. I sat around in the back yard for awhile. The heat is creeping back, but it was still pleasant outside. I watered some of my plants.

The Sparrowhawk went to his socially distanced book club. I pushed myself to go out for a walk, because I haven't had one in awhile. I felt slow and sad as I plodded around, but the bright golden cup plants and sneezeweed and the purple tassels of asters and the Queen Anne's lace were blooming and they were very pretty. I ate some toast, soup, and rice. Now I'm hungry, but I don't dare eat anything else. I'm feeling that these accounts of my days are very much like the Monty Python sketch where Mrs. Premise (or is it Mrs. Conclusion?) complains that she's tired, and the other Mrs. asks what she's been doing. With a heavy sigh, she replies, "Well, I got up . . . made myself a cup of tea . . . and I looked out of the window."