Tired

Here I am, slumped back on the pillows in bed, fully dressed, exhausted.

It is 3.44 pm on Friday afternoon and I am done in. 

I slept well last night and all I have done today so far is:

Talk on the phone to Liz about one of my paintings, do 15 minutes of yoga for the bad back* I got from gardening yesterday, reply to various easy emails, make enough leek and potato soup to feed 10 people tomorrow at an event at Quaker Meeting, (I am sharing the catering), work on a painting while listening to dramatised Rumpole stories on Audible, have an overdue catch up with my sister Jen on the phone, eat lunch (some of the soup) and remember that leeks no longer agree with me, paint some more and feel so tired I go to bed and watch an episode of Gilmore Girls on my iPad, and then do half an hour’s gardening. 

I am soooo tired, too tired to read, and anyway the book on the bedside table is one I am not enjoying, despite the fact that the writing is wonderful.

I sit here and remember that another week has gone by and I have not written to my MP about the genocide. He is a new MP and Dave has not yet managed to get a response from him, though Dave has written to him half a dozen times. And yet it was on my to do list. I know it will not make a blind bit of difference because if Starmer has done nothing thus far he will certainly not be speaking out now.  But what else is there to do?

When I am in or on the bed and all else fails,  I pick up a poetry book. The one on the bedside table today is Being Human, which is a wonderful anthology in the same series as Staying Alive and Being Alive. I open it at random and this is what I find:

* I discovered a wonderful yoga teacher online who does 15 minutes of easy yoga exercises that never fail to cure my lower back pain I get from gardening. It’s like magic. 

Here is a link 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeXz8fIZDCE