Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter


Day 283

Places I tried to sleep last night: our bed (unsuccessful), at the dining room table (unsuccessful), on the sofa under two blankets listening to my Aggie playlist (partially successful for about an hour), our bed again (partially successful but constantly interrupted by one of the cats causing the lid of the blanket box to bang loudly), so up again at 07:45 feeling dreary, bleary-eyed, exhausted. There then followed an episode of what I can only describe as being like having taken another sachet of pre-colonoscopy prep – obviously caused by this damn disease. I tried to work meaningfully, and even dragged myself through a 70-minute video call that I couldn’t re-arrange. After that, I gave up, and have now crawled my way through most of the day on my hands and knees. God knows what I’d be feeling like if I’d not had 3 vaccine doses.

Whilst taking the air in the garden, I noticed that two branches of our solitary olive tree had olives on them – baffling; the tree has innumerable other branches, all bare.

Aggie must remain at rest – I can’t string together anything meaningful, let alone sentences that contribute to a plot. At least we all know that this is NOT man flu.

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