Three days at work now after over 12 months of sick leave.
There's a moment after about one hour when I feel the sky is falling and, no, this will not work and then I tell myself, you are stuck here, you have to get through this for a bit longer and whoops, another hour goes by and I have managed.
And after about three hours I drive home, on the radio some debate on whatever and then the forecast (blizzard) and I park the car and struggle with the cover (fucking snow) and pick up the complaining cat and open the front door and sit down on the stairs in the hall and watch my hands shaking and shaking.
And I lean back and listen to the roaring in my banjaxed ear and my bones are so so heavy and I wish someone would help me take off my boots and coat.
And I open the kitchen door and R is cooking and listening to the world service and his face is so tired and he leans over the counter chopping celery and I smile and ask him, how was your day.