Not sure of much these days. The good new is that I woke up with a warm nose. If I were a dog I'd be happy but it's still not warm in my apartment. I'm not getting anything done, and heaven knows I have a lot to do. My troubles are minimal, I know. I've been thinking perhaps this is an adumbration of my future: shuffling (and shivering) and thinking (a little) but not accomplishing anything.
I'm sure I've mentioned this before - Doris Lessing's books, republished as one, The Diaries of Jane Somers. It comprises Diary of a Good Neighbour and If The Old Could (1983 and 1984) begun by Lessing as an experiment to see what happens to a new, unknown writer. That's not the story I want to refer to, but you can look it up.
A poor old woman, in her 90s, is 'adopted' by a successful business woman who takes her on as project and then gets hooked. The part I remember best was the rumination of the old woman trying to go about her day and giving in to her lack of energy and caring. She leaves spills and dirt and struggles to do the bare minimum of self-care. That's me, right now, and that's me, in the not-so-distant future. I'm going to re-read that.
Perhaps this blog will become a slide, a slip-slide into the future. Hang on!
Going down.