Chimaera, Turkey
Night garden blooms
Algarve sunset
What do you think of the sausages? I ask my husband tonight as we eat our Cauldron Quorn supper.
What are sausages? he says putting one in his mouth.
Is Sweden in America? he asks,watching the news as Obama gets off a plane in Stockholm.
No, in Northern Europe.
Where's Europe?
I don't know when I'm going to get used to it. They say acceptance is the final stage of grief. My friend says - You are so close.
But mostly I feel as if I'm going backwards and acceptance is a chimaera....a phantom, that keeps taunting me, disappearing round a corner leaving behind a wisp of smoke...and my heart in pieces.....
But mostly I'm just knackered all the time.....and today the Man-With-The-Magic-Fingers who held my head in his hands and gently moved my spinal fluid down to my sore back, said that going to bed so late and waking up so early meant that I wasn't getting proper sleep.
Which means I need to stop blogging at midnight....which means I may not blog at all.....for a while anyway......unless I write earlier in the day...Another habit to change - like chasing illusions.
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