So many plans, so much I want to do. But instead, looking at the magnolia leaves on the ground, all I can feel is time passing while I just sit and watch. Ah, the crucial leap between thought and action. I seem to have completely forgotten how to manage that.

Most evenings I ask myself if the time until the next morning is actually enough to somehow recover. Physically recover. You are such a wimp, says the voice in my head. No, you have a chronic illness, says my doctor. Bah, rubbish, says the voice. Don't fool yourself, says my doctor.

And so on and on. 

Meanwhile, one of the girls has done a runner from her "retirement center". There are only old people here, she cried over the phone, too many wheelchairs. It's not the right place for me.

So she packed got help to pack her stuff and has moved back into her little dingy place in the city where she can push her walker along the potholed sidewalks to the corner shop and say hello to the  men sitting at the bus stop with their drinks and try not to drop her pills and make her own breakfast and dinner again and we all keep our fingers crossed that the next fall plus fracture will not be for a while yet. And better not happen at night.

Just to think of it, me here slouching through my days and over there, our almost deaf and blind Nuala, standing at the bus stop with her walker ready for a day's outing to the sales and a bit of mass thrown in.

What am I doing with my life. What is my life doing to me. What was it again that I wanted?