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Sorry that this was late & in bits but I think it was copying me.

Please be patient with spelling and gramatical errors - they had
little schooling but are willing to attend extra classes to correct 



I got up at around 8am which was unusual with my son staying. Not that my
son staying wasn’t in itself unusual, because it was – and is. It was just that
on the quite rare occasions that he does stay, (apart from on Christmas Eve
which has its own traditions that must never be confused with those of any
other sleep-over), on Sunday unlike other such mornings we had no trains to
catch, no imposed schedules to adhere to – in fact, no timetable at all.
Our destination was a carboot sale and the prospect was quite exciting. 

We arrived at the bumpy farmer’s field some hours after colonization had taken
place, but before the ritual exodus would begin, which showed perfect (obviously
intuitive) timing. The weather was good to us, no rain, a slight balmy breeze but
without too much heat. All was good. Except, (and I really do hate to be a misery
but ...), didn’t Einstein or Pythagoras or any one of those amazingly Scienticians,
or Mathmatientists create a formula whereby:
bumpy ground + person + wobbly condition = SmoothPassage or, B+P+W=:-)

I eventually bought six DVDs for £5.00. Very fair, even though when we first got
to that table the man serving said they were 2 or 50p - but that was before  his
girlfriend arrived with a different idea about pricing
my son had spied a pile of 90's
records on another stall
and I had knelt down to look through their extensive collection
without considering how I was to get back up until my second knee touched the grass
...when it comes to a contest between my business acumen and my pride - there is
no contest.


During the night I had been thinking about one of the main characters in
On Reflection, my Screenplay-in-the-making, and was still in the right frame of mind
to put the thoughts and the energy to good use. I was less tired than I expected to be
on Monday, which was great. So, up and onto the computer: a quick overview
of Outlook before deleting most emails, an even briefer check in on Twitter – all was
as usual there (minus about half the number of Followers that I gained - down to my
natural charm no doubt) then plugged in the portable HDD I use for serious writing and
perused my work to date. Everything was fine up until that point, and then... need I say it?
Of course not, but for the sake of continuity, I will anyway. Immediately after I faced
my unfinished project I felt defeated by the same surge of inwardly directed animosity
that I always feel at this point.

That was until I was rescued by a magical memory, which carried me back to some washing
that I’d put into the machine the night before, which I then switched on. The noise was
distracting but I turned the radio on to a local station that plays a little music but is mostly
talk, to add its own kind of distraction when the washing was quieter. I have a mild tinnitus
which takes the form of a pseudo static/radio interferencey kind of a whispering sound type
thingy that had me checking everything electrical for the source of the noise for over a year
until the penny dropped. I should have been listening to classical music, of course. The only
kind I can really write to as it doesn't ask me to get invoved in coversations, or sing along, or
dredge up long and probably best forgotten memories, but unfortunately the only place I can
write seriously is in the kitchen and the only classical station I can get there was being regularly
injected at the time with ridiculous conversation that I couldn’t listen to – or more aptly, ignore.

Eventually I took myself and the HDD into the sitting room where I attached it to the laptop
before switching on the TV, not to watch but to find a classical radio channel to write (by hand)
by. I don’t know where the idea came from or why I hadn’t thought of it before, but as I laid 
face down on the carpet, pad, pen and earnest air poised for an another extraordinary journey,
I had at least until the first load of washing was finished before I would call it a day – longer if
I couldn’t get back onto my feet.



I don’t know at what point exactly my wakefulness donned the gauntlet of resistance to
(I would say my normal) guilt driven instincts, as I had woken for brief periods many times
throughout the night and early morning. What I do know is that having decided to spend the
day in bed I had lists to make. Lists such as: Reasons for Lethargy... 1. Genuinely extremely
(genuinely?... yes genuinely!). 2. All the Neuro bods have been telling me to ‘listen to my
body’ for years ...
(so why suddenly listen to them now?). 3. Mind overloaded with too many heavy thoughts.   
Then there is the ‘Survival List’, 1. Food & Drink: No eating, at least until evening - a small sacrifice
as my sense of entitlement to be where I was increased the longer I went without and I had enough
now flat lemonade to swallow pills, + some left over from the day before). 
Personal Hygiene:  Put up with the discomfort as long as possible, but if
(not if, but when and only when)
I became desperate for a wee, then as I was already up and in the vicinity of the bathroom I could also
have a wash and brush my teeth.      

There was one more list, trickier by far than any other: the ‘What to Do If?’ list.
What to do if ...
1. The Telephone Rings: - easy. Answer don't let on that you are in bed.
2. Someone comes to the door:  Oh hell. I wouldn’t answer it ... but just knowing that someone
knew I was hiding upstairs, undressed in bed when I should be showered and down ...  dragged
me back into that dank corner of childhood, where all you want to do is to evaporate
into an invisible
that nobody could see or
get to.


By latish afternoon as pre arranged, my son arrived at the house to come with me to visit his
grandmother, my mother. What was not arranged but is fast becoming a custom for these times is my
need to fiddle with make-up and hair just as we are due to leave, ending only on my realisation that
anything more I might do will be counterproductive to my original aim, i.e. to appear naturally human,
by which time I don’t feel like going out at all.

The visit went well – I tried not to indulge my greed by eating any of the chocolates that I had given on
arrival, though had I been stronger I would have bought the ones I knew she possibly liked better and I
liked a lot less. There again, I’d had nothing else to eat all day...

Having said our goodbyes we got a taxi from which we were dropped into the town, in front of a
cheap-and-cheerful pub which just happened to have 10oz ribeye steak meals on special ... and so a
mediocre day ended on a high. (Apologies to all Veggies & Vegans)



Although you may by now think otherwise, I am not by nature a list maker. It’s not that I have
anything against people who are, not really. It isn’t as if I‘ve ever had that close dealings with those
kind of people anyway... like anyone could delve deep enough into the notepads, clipboard and carefully
pocketed stationary to make an impression ...
(No! Tell me I didn’t say that last bit out loud...). Ah, enough of this
joking around. You mentioned a list? Or lists? ... I seem to remember...

I had seen my name flash past from time to time when on Twitter, saying that I had been added to this
list or a tweet had been added to that one, yet had never known what those or similar lists were all about.
On Thursday I decided to find out and make some of my very own. I initially went to Twitter Help to read up
on where to find the basics and how to go about the tasks ahead – in fact I went back to that general area
several time during the ordeal, which was very good for me as the instructions were incredibly annoying.

Eventually, after several hours of painstakingly slow searches through people I follow, trying (as a first
attempt) to pull out and sort all charities and the like into groups. Simple I thought.  How wrong I was. I
should have read the instructions when I first opened the box and out popped Twitter – get the lists going
from the start. I suppose I should be glad that I haven’t got massive numbers as have most everyone else
it seems.

Of course I couldn’t find some that I knew were there, and I knew that there must have been more that I had
forgotten and should have also sorted, but hopefully they will all show themselves in time and end up in their
rightful places. There was just one thing that made me feel really sick and still does and that was a website
that I had followed back, not having paid enough attention obviously, thinking that it was another site supporting
gay rights or HIV/AIDS, as I had tweeted support for those causes around that time. In fact it was a particularly
vile site that was at least in its concept, offensive to anyone who has been abused and in its content I’m sure
disgusting – and I had presumably thanked it for following... I really do normally look at the tweets and often
the website too before following back, I don’t know what happened there but I surely have learnt a lesson.



It was the day set aside for gardening. My son had originally offered to come over first thing in the
morning, get an early start and work on through the day. I had managed to beat him down to lunchtime,
but not before trying and failing to ‘play nice’ and suggest that I would understand if he wanted to have
a lay in, go to the gym, do anything he liked first then pop over for a couple of hours in the afternoon...?

Don’t get me wrong, I love his company and my garden needs the input – I just haven’t got the oomph
for long stretches of manual labour anymore, and I feel too uncomfortable watching someone that I’m
not paying relatively big bucks to, working on my behalf whilst I do nothing. (I now stop briefly to wince,
as the thought of anyone who worked where I was manager, might actually read this and have their own
views). Before you offer the obvious and would-be-perfect solution to the gardening problem, I must remind
you that I am pitifully lacking capital.

In the end he got busy outside whilst I continued being not very busy inside, waiting for the pizza
buy-one-get-one-free to be delivered (and eaten) prior to me joining him. Once filled the 3hrs or so spent
constructively in the garden, weeding, planting and cutting back was actually very enjoyable.

I don’t know whether you have ever done this yourself, but I thought I’d try to educate the snails regarding
boundaries, by lining them up in front of the plants I had noticed them eating and, in a stern but controlled
voice repeating ‘NO’ each time they made to move forward, and at the same time putting them back to the
start position. I repeated it many times until I felt it should have sunk in.  Maybe I should have tried for
longer. To be honest, I think they were a particularly slow bunch.



Saturday should be so easy to describe: a tongue-in-cheek moan about the process of writing short, rather
daft accounts of past days, being interrupted by having to stop to write the account of... Saturday. Not so
this week of course.

I say of course, but I actually have no idea what happened to change things this week, and have no excuse,
letter from my mother, or even valid explanation to give to myself for the absence of the Catch-Up due over
the weekend. I just couldn’t get started - which was strange. I think I might have understood had it held
some importance.
Truth is – I can’t remember what I did on the day. All I know is that I stayed in and that
nobody came over, other than that – it was just a Saturday that past by without me typing any silly thoughts.

Thank you for dropping by - my version of normality should be resumed quite soon - Previous wks can be accessed
via links under the Logo.

MicheleBurnett x
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