Well, it's happened. This morning, I found I could still get out of bed, run donwstairs (carefully), make breakfast, walk into town...I had wondered whether all this would change, but I seem much the same as I was yesterday. Phew. Perhaps it's not quite as bad as I thought it would be. Wonderful daughter came with cake and snowdrops and presents, and John is cooking steak for dinner.
But. I need to make better use of time. I'm going to make a kind of bucket list/list of resolutions. Some of them are as follows:
Waste less time. Very difficult.
Do less blogging. " "
Finish the novel. After all, my agent likes it, and while she says there are no guarantees in the current climate (I know that!) I shouldn't waste 36,000 words, should I?
Write more short stories. I've just sold three, so that should be an incentive, but it doesn't always work like that.
Do some volutary work. It used to be Relate couselling (whch was mainly unpaid), but now I need to find something else. Apart, that is, from writing to my death row prisoner.
Have singing lessons. I've sung in a choir for years, and want to learn to make the most of the minimal ability I've got.
Take at least one item a week to the Oxfam shop. That means pruning books : (
Do one grotty job a week (clear out the larder, ditto the courtyard, clean the disgusting utility-area-cum-shed at the back of the house, scrub the moss off the doorstep...you get the idea).
Clean the car more than once every three years. Moss on the windows is not a good look.
Get back the nerve I lost when I had three horse accidents last year. I've become something of a wimp since then, and need to pull myself together. (And teach Fairfax that he's not the boss.)
Looks impressive, doesn't it?