Sometimes I think I think too much. Even Bob tells me "stop thinking and worrying so much, it's too stressful for you." I'm healing now from the miserable cold. Coughing still but feeling much better. I've passed the cold along to Bob, sorry dear. I went grocery shopping yesterday as it was the first day I really felt I could handle public scrutiny - less coughing and nose wiping, more clean and shiny, blown-out hair, red lipstick, earrings and sandals. . . . . as it's back in the nineties here. It rained cats and dogs last evening.
I'm in green and pleasant Ireland in my mind.
I'm still in slow motion.
I'm still in slow motion.
The textures of life, rough, smooth, coarse, delicate and sturdy, all at once - Irish daisies on the train tracks.
I said we should do that . . . . . . . pack up, sell up, move to a beautiful place totally distant and new, enjoy the remaining years without ties and tribulations. Ridiculous I know, but escapism is something film has always given us - it makes us see life differently.
Makes us think!



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