As I force myself to make the most of my time in perfect isolation, having had my wings severely clipped – just as so many of us around this troubled sphere of wonder – and have managed to take more rest which always helps me in the battle against the newly acquired flying monkeys of PD-infused anxiety, as well as the far more ominous stirrings of that alluring, innate proclivity towards the gallant giant gesture, the Fionn mac Cumhaill let the chips fly where they may/the devil may care attitude that may within my own mind read like a Norse saga or a line of divine verse and chapter in the Book of Kells, but sometimes leaves me wondering what people must think of me.
Oh well, here we go again. But it’s a much better day. Actually enjoyed doing some productive domestic things, just having opted for the Hell of it to still believe I may find some refuge here for some more years.
Made progress in the worlds of legal and financial matters, and thoroughly enjoyed my lovely clean and comfy house, as well as the lingering memory of that most helpful flying visit from my new incredible friend yesterday morning.
And of course by no means do I feel I am out of the woods at all. But it helps me and those lumbered with having to keep me at arm’s length at the moment, when I can for once stop, take a breath and just sit and shut my trap long enough to start thinking inwardly, ‘Who knows? The strange listing ship to which I’ve been hanging on for dear life for quite some time now might right itself after all.’
Oh, and yet another venture-ette (DHM will take some more preparation) saw the light today in the shape of the Wamberal Warrior