In which the Rodent learns from past mistakes.

Having spent another restless night listening to the wind (and even, at one point, nipping out for a 3am walk to see how bad the wind was), I learned that Tramadol is not really any good to me as a nightcap. Today I took it early. Not terribly early, since I slept through until my flute teacher rang me at some point past 3pm. I may have needed it, today was much better.

I went Outside! I went to the butchers and had returned, unpacked veg and cooked us both breakfast before much more than an hour had passed since waking. This is very quick off the mark for me, but it did put me on edge for the rest of the day: one reason I like two hours to get off the mark from sleep to Out.

Then the second trip was to the garage, pausing only to admire a double part-rainbow, a complete rainbow and a pretty sunset. There I got enough gas for a goodly while and various sundries. I am having fewer episodes where I forget what I was doing and miss chunks of time, which is nice. I was able to stay focused on what I was doing right through all the processes of getting to the garage, getting money, looking around at things and then paying. I did nearly walk off without the gas, but that's fairly normal.

I'm not sure how to explain the difference between normal absent-mindedness and the strange, frightening voids in memory that bother me. I think it's the difference between forgetting to pick up the gas and forgetting what a gas card is and not being able to work out what to do with it, or where I currently am, and why.


A second meal was cooked and eaten: thinly sliced leeks cut on the bias and cooked in butter, white wine and nutmeg, to which grated carrots and then dried tarragon were added. With this, Ruthi had my last vealburger (I made it from high-welfare veal) and I had big, fat venison sausages from the local butcher. We both had sweet potatoes cooked with allspice and sage, pronounced very delicious by Ruthi.
Dessert was underripe pear and overripe red plum cooked in red wine, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and fresh ginger. Ruthi had seconds, so I think she liked it.

Since I've put laundry on, remembered to give Moth her hot water bottle and done the bulk of the washing up, as well as my ten chores, I'd say today was a very high functioning day. It remains to be seen how well tomorrow goes, but hopefully an early night will get me awake in better time to go museum-visiting.

Pain is only about four, bothersome but I can still feel good, spiking to six, ow, or seven where life seems unfun and I have to stop typing.

In which the Rodent posts the letter of complaint and celebrates with suicidal leeks.

I went out and posted a letter of complaint after the unpleasantness with the court officer or whoever she was yesterday, with all the bells and whistles.

The weather's dry and quite warm. I did manage to get to the chemist to get a form for getting drugs delivered. I get so stressed out about trying to keep up with the beta blockers, if I can use this service, then I can keep regular with the drugs and also use my energy for other things. For example, I'd like to get Moth registered at a new vet, get my teeth seen to, various other things I've been putting off.

I had to fill in a form and the chemist was just closing for lunch, so I grabbed a sarnie at the local cafe - actually one of three local cafes! They lent me a pen, and I got the form done and posted, but it did leave me migrainous. Something about filling in forms sets them off and I think it's a combination of the leaning forward and the having to focus eyes and attention. The leaning forward problem would also explain why I can read a book in bed or in the bath but not when out of the house - being outside means sitting upright, which means looking down to read.

On then to the butcher, to get meat and veggies. I want to do veal burger on a bed of leeks and vichy carrots, which is just carrots split and cooked in slightly sugared water to give them a glaze. Courgettes, carrots, white turnips, some leeks which kept trying to commit suicide by leaping, so I got the butcher to decapitate them and save them the trouble. Mixed peppers, lemons, celery. A good sized leg of lamb for the weekend and some sausages. No sweet potatoes though. They seem to be out of season. The entire lot was £16 and it's basically enough food for most of a week.

While I was walking from the butcher, a piece of paper fell out of my pocket, but it didn't look like much and I thought it must be an old receipt, since I couldn't remember anything papery I had wanted to keep. Since I was sweating and trembling and it was small and not important, I let it go. It's only occurred to me now that it was probably the tracking number for the letter I sent. Bother. My brain just does not seem to connect things in real time - I am always working them out later on.

Back home, feeling sick enough to nearly lose the bacon and egg sarnie, and distinctly not enjoying life even a little, in fact completely miserable with pain, not even wanting to put the veg away. Putting veg into the drawer and seeing all the tempting ingredients usually makes me happy and full of recipe ideas. The complete lack of pleasure puts the pain at about a 7. I persuaded myself to take cocodamol, but I think I've missed my opportunity since my head is pounding merrily.