I don't feel well. It's just the same old stuff. My platelet count is down again. I'll bet my cholesterol is up again. My colon is fine for now, but knowing me and how little water I'm naturally inclined to drink, it won't be fine for long. The only time in my life as an adult I didn't eat healthy was during the worst of the time of caring for my heinous and demented mother. There came a point I just didn't have the energy for cooking, so I lived on cereal and Budget Gourmet. But those days are long past. And I've been eating healthy for five years now. I don't walk far enough or long enough, but I'm working on it. There, so much for my health.I suspect my lassitude has more to do with political fatigue and the too fast ending of long days. I'm sensitive to short days. I need sunlight and time. Winter is coming and now I have work to do outside. I've neglected the yard this year. I haven't finished enlarging the path and patio here from the little house to the front house. I didn't realize how much Ms M did to make the front of the house look good. I hardly ever venture out front except to pick up mail or coming and going with Marley when we walk. I have set water several times to find it turned off by one of the young men in the front house. They think half an hour is plenty. Not for trees, it isn't. I haven't felt well enough to mow, but then when you hardly ever water, the lawn doesn't grow much.
I have cut the Iris, pulled vines out of trees, raked the pine needles, trimmed the mint. I will cut the Vinca from the paved paths, pull the bulbs from the beds too close to the house. I will re pot house plants getting ready to bring them inside. But what I cannot do is write. Not for the time being. I will wait for the leaves to turn and fall and then I will rake.
