0 comment Thursday, July 17, 2014 | admin
Friend and I went strawberry picking yesterday and managed to get two kilos each. They're huge and about three weeks early, and plenty of scoffing was had. The farmer remembered us from last year and we've told a few friends about the place as well as it's clear the farm is very in family (the grandparents are buried on the property beneath a set of very old apple trees), and also clear the farm is struggling to keep its head above water. Just the sort of farm I'm willing to support, especially when they have such amazing strawberries! Over the past 24 hours I've got my five-a-day and child feasted on berries this morning for breakfast. That's one punnet gone already but there will be more as this looks to be a good year for local fruit.
After our ramble about yesterday, however, today I am very much in recovery mode. A bout of insomnia last night and struggling to find food child would eat this morning has me more fogged out than normal. I wonder why my hands hurt, then realise I haven't taken the anti-inflammatories. Hm. Why not? Oh yes, I didn't eat breakfast. I walk out the door - hm, I was going somewhere, why was I...oh yes, the letter I have to post. You know, the one I left inside on the stairs. And so on. There's a point where it gets amusing, and even a point where such a dreamy-brain-state can be inspiring (I was hit with a wonderful idea for a painting as I wandered up to a shop, only to turn back as the cash machine had already been hit by the locals and there was no more cash left). But for the most part it's a sign to me to reserve my strength and get more rest if I can. Trying to mind my son whilst in the midst of fibro-fog is not a particularly good scenario.
So for me, powernaps and trying to force my mind to deal with things it would rather not be bothered with - fully aware that while I doze the phone will ring, or emails will need answering as the rest of the world isn't on my own schedule.
I'll sort out the chicken carcasses for stock and chicken chili later. Later.
After our ramble about yesterday, however, today I am very much in recovery mode. A bout of insomnia last night and struggling to find food child would eat this morning has me more fogged out than normal. I wonder why my hands hurt, then realise I haven't taken the anti-inflammatories. Hm. Why not? Oh yes, I didn't eat breakfast. I walk out the door - hm, I was going somewhere, why was I...oh yes, the letter I have to post. You know, the one I left inside on the stairs. And so on. There's a point where it gets amusing, and even a point where such a dreamy-brain-state can be inspiring (I was hit with a wonderful idea for a painting as I wandered up to a shop, only to turn back as the cash machine had already been hit by the locals and there was no more cash left). But for the most part it's a sign to me to reserve my strength and get more rest if I can. Trying to mind my son whilst in the midst of fibro-fog is not a particularly good scenario.
So for me, powernaps and trying to force my mind to deal with things it would rather not be bothered with - fully aware that while I doze the phone will ring, or emails will need answering as the rest of the world isn't on my own schedule.
I'll sort out the chicken carcasses for stock and chicken chili later. Later.
Labels: Food, Languishment