I’m just so blooming tired. I’m feeling sorry for myself. On the one hand I’m trying to tell myself, I’ve emptied wardrobes & drawers, taken load after load to charity shops, dealt with paperwork, filed with HMRC, sorted Order of Service etc etc etc ... but ... it’s not done.
I still need to do more paperwork, send out more letters, finish the washing up ... but I have to be up early for a minor op to remove a growing mole ... where are all my “old” friends .. the ones I’ve driven to interviews, the ones I’ve sat up with as they cried, the ones I’ve helped .. too blooming busy ... that’s where
The house looks better, but not good enough.
Poor Pooch just wants me to hold him, which I do .. but I need to get on & feel guilty for telling him.
It’s like nothing is enough, but I’ve nothing left to give
I know I’m tired, despite the incredible pain of a deep tissue massage, I felt myself falling asleep.
Tomorrow, youngest will arrive, full of pride at soon being a dad himself, but expecting his Mum to be in control, delicious meal, comfy bed, clean bedding, while saying it’s ok.
It’s not ok. It will be. But right now, it’s not