Delusional

My birthday is looming on the horizon,and for some reason I’m convinced I will be sixty eight, when in fact I shall be seventy eight.

There is a huge difference in the two. Up until the age of seventy everything was working efficiently. My heart was okay, my legs took me where I wanted to go, but from the age of seventy something changed, and I think this is why I want to be sixty eight not seventy eight.

The weekend was uneventful a bit disappointing really. Trudy out with Derek and Anne and I took up the ironing board. Ironing is something I do less and less of. I don’t experience that feeling of a job well done when I gaze at the growing pile of ironed clothes. Winter is very much on my side because no one can see that I haven’t ironed my tee shirts but once summer comes you really have to iron most things.

My grandchildren don’t agree and rarely do any ironing.

Cooked lunch for the family yesterday. My daughter visited Mary in hospital in the afternoon.  She is progressing nicely I believe.

Tomorrow is pacing clinic for me. This will be a new experience for me, but I believe it’s too check the pacemaker is working as it should.

The DVLA agreed to re-issue my driving licence. I was so relieved. I could feel my last bit of independence slipping through my fingers. How would I get to the doctors, vet, hairdressing, so when that brown envelope dropped on my mat and I opened it, I was very thankful.

Sun shining at the moment. It looks glorious. Shall get out for a walk later I think.

 

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