After I wrote yesterday’s entry, the day took an ugly turn. Apparently I was due for a meltdown and didn’t know it. (I rarely know it. I bottle things up without realising it, and then things come spewing out that I had no idea I was thinking/feeling. Imagine how blindsided poor Ken feels.) Don’t worry, don’t panic, it’ll all be fine, there’s no emergency, etc. In fact, I’m not going to talk about it anymore.

Except to say, I understand Tennyson better: “I am half-sick of shadows.” Makes perfect sense now.

But I didn’t get much else done, other than sitting outside on a big comfy chair that should have been taken to Goodwill weeks ago, rather than be left sitting outside (it’s under the porch roof so it’s not getting completely trashed, but still), reading the novel ms. and drinking tea. Made bbq chicken for dinner, watched “Surviving Nugent” and the final “Charmed” ep and did a little weaving and painted my nails pink and failed to get drunk because I couldn’t be bothered to keep getting up to refill my wine glass. I’m glad the day is over.

No real interest in doing anything today. I feel like I’m wrapped in cotton batting, which should be a relief but really isn’t.