Spilt Milk of a Day - Blog Post | August 2nd, 2021

24.7.21

Woke up still groggy from a migraine two days ago, made a coffee, went outside with no shoes on, felt grateful for the cold. Rang the physio therapist to make an appointment for him to look at my shoulder because, oh God it hurts and I just can’t wait six months for six sessions in Seacroft. His name is David and he thinks he can help me but first he wants to know – ‘How does your MS effect you?’ Jesus David, what an opening question. How is it possible for the universe to have no edge and also be constantly expanding? How deep is the gap at Browns point? I don’t bloody know David, some things are too big for words.

Later on, fatigue rolling in like a sea fret, I try to claw back some victories from this spilt milk of a day. The bees have made a triumphant return to my lavender bush and this is a cause for hope. I rearrange all the furniture in my living room, decide I liked it better how it was and put it back. I submit a poem for publication for the first time and remember that tomorrow a film of mine is being screened and tickets sold out before I could buy one. I have a little cry because my favourite take away place has stopped delivering to my house, then I track it down on another website. That’s the secret in this life, sometimes you just have to find another way around.

[Authors note: (imagine this is whispered) Hi, hi, I’ve been struggling to keep up with blogging over the last few months. I thought I’d try an experiment where I upload a short extract from my journal as a sort of interlude between posts. What do you think? Should I do it again or no?]

This is what I’m supposed to be writing about today.