I’ve not enjoyed weekends, I think, for years. Sometimes I have something to do – something social even – and I’ll pull out the Fun Face. But that’s tiring. Generally, I sleep. In between naps, I’ll look around the messy flat and think about how I should muster myself to sort out my clothes (or at least put them in draws) run about with the hoover (oh how I loathe the hoover) and shiney up dusty surfaces. And then I nap some more – energy expended by being depressed by how much I’m not doing.
This weekend is no exception. I feel unwell in body and mind. Whilst out with Lexi yesterday, a man snapped at me after I’d mistakenly thought he’d addressed me and I said “sorry?” “I was talking, to my son!” he replied, with a ferocious glare. I resumed my walk feeling tearful. Why are people so grumpy? I stay away from them as much as I can. In fact, avoiding people is one of my favourite things to do.
We’re out for today’s walk now. I do hope no one notices me.