It's been such a difficult month and it's only now that it's almost over that I can talk about it.
I was due to travel to Heathrow on February 28th to fly to Colorado the next day. But on the morning of travel I was taken ill and it would have been impossible for me to travel anywhere, so I cancelled the trip.
When I was feeling better I claimed on my travel insurance for the cancelled trip. I don't know if it was because I was making a slow recovery or if my brain is disintegrating with age but coping with the admin for that was taxing, not least getting a signed declaration from my GP.
In the meantime I was waiting for an appointment to have something else checked at the hospital. Uncertainty takes up a lot of space in my brain and by the time my appointment came round a fortnight later I was beyond tense. But it was good news - all clear - so the minute I got home from the hospital I rang the insurance, expecting them to say fine, all systems go, but they said I needed to get an assurance from my GP that I was fit to travel in April. I lost my rag.
"What? It took me two weeks of hassle and cost me £40 to get the declaration for the claim and you want me to do the same again?"
"No, no. A verbal assurance that you are fit to travel is all we need."
"But I am telling you I am fit to travel!" Did they think I would want to travel to the USA alone if I wasn't well?
"We need to have word from your doctor. If she tells you and you tell us, that will be fine."
"Do you know how hard it is to get hold of a doctor?" I really lost it; and then I apologised and rang off.
Surprisingly and fortunately an email and a text secured the assurance (bless my GP) so I am now re-insured at the same price as the transatlantic ticket, on top of the original premium. Being old and having been ill in the last three months is bloody expensive.
You might ask "Why the rush? Wait a while and pay a bit less." But the thing is, not only am I getting older so premiums will continue to get more expensive, but also the girls are growing up fast, and I don't want to miss any more precious time before they sail off into adolescence.
All of the above set against the background of the UK government's dark and cruel oppression of people in need has brought me down this last month and I have been an out-and-out misery guts.
Also I have been unable to paint. I have begun two paintings and discarded both because they weren't working, and I had no inspiration for anything else.
But yesterday I took a train to the shining city of Sheffield
and had a coffee and catch up with a friend and we went to see several exhibitions at the Graves gallery. It was inspiring and invigorating and I bought a helpful book about painting
which I would recommend to any other beginner. I've already devoured half of it and I can't wait to get started on a new idea I have.
After the gallery I went to see the new and well-reviewed rom-com Rye Lane - which was upbeat and refreshing.
Meanwhile in March, Dave has been patient and forbearing through all my misery and hissy fits, and he’s continued to make wooden clocks. He has completed six and given them away, and although he has no homes for any more, he can't stop making them, because he loves the process and he is in love with the wood he was given.
Yesterday he used the last piece, and this morning he is talking about dismantling a trolley he made for the shed because of the "delicious" cherry it's made of.
Once he has started doing something he enjoys he can't stop. We've been here before with tables and with signs saying Carpe Diem.
At breakfast we were talking about whether it was helpful to have a diagnosis of Asperger's when you're an adult.
"It helped you, didn't it?" I said.
"No. It explained why my life was shit, but it didn't change my behaviour. Hence the clocks."
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