Today I retrieved some of my will power. I got up at 6:30 (late!), ate my orange and checked a recipe online before I swam at 7:40. I crawled into the unmade bed when I returned and fell asleep but woke in time to recover my identity.

I was checking how to cook fiddleheads. My grocery delivery had them and I ordered some; they came yesterday. So I was trying to remember how to cook them and wondering with whom I could share them and found the right person in the pool. She’s coming for dinner tonight so I can’t goof off. I’m thawing chicken thighs for a sheet-pan dinner with roasted sweet potatoes. I have fresh raspberries for dessert and my friend is going to bring her delicious chocolate-nut thingies. Lovely start to a long weekend.
The outdoor pool opens today. I hope the air is warm.
So now I’ll get to work. I have letters to write.

I finally realized that I am going through a long long recovery time.

I don’t remember going to bed last night. I was asleep before I lay down. I didn’t wake up this morning. I was still deep in my REM, a dream that I didn’t leave, and when I did, suddenly I was here, at home, with no idea how I got here, no memory of a return from New York (in my dream), being with people I know are dead, including my husband.

I’m here now. Almost.

I dozed upright on the sofa most of the afternoon. I finally went swimming in and out of the spa (hot) and the pool (very cool). I took the compost out and checked the mail (nada), loaded the dishwasher and made some dinner—two cobs of corn, not from Ontario, too early for that, but good. And finally realized that I was still recovering.

I forgive me.

Tomorrow I will do better.