Sporadia

No worries on the title. I just invented this word to cover sporadic posts, blurts, exclamations. I think it neat. You may not. But whatever, as the young 'uns have it.

I've had far too many medical appointments in the past ten days, sucking the bejaybus out of me. Old age, seriously, is a full time job. Procedures, tests, evaluations, medications adjustments, frequent labwork, one on ones with members of my team, recording all my readings daily, exhaustion recovery and on.

More than ever I appreciate escaping into books and knitting which don't take much energy. I find my writing has slipped by the wayside and that niggles away at me. I celebrate a good night's sleep as an enormous achievement and a day which doesn't need the boost of a pain pill deserving of an Oscar.

I mete out my weeks like a miser hoarding his slivers of gold.

Next week I have the time for a hair appointment. I view it as a luxury now where before I would view it as an unwelcome intrusion into my busy week.

I read about trimming down even further and viewed my kitchen drawers with a discerning eye of merciless evaluation. I cling to stuff like they are mementoes of good times. So I daringly tossed out all the old dishrags and tea towels and hand made pot holders. I have far, far too many of everything. All hidden, grant you, but I know they are there lurking in the cupboards and drawers. Next will be the shame drawer and shelves, you know, the big ones, holding all those plastic containers for leftovers and freezables and give aways. And the twos (or threes) of everything from tongs to serving spoons to spatulas. Mindless collections. 

Between the shredding and the tossing my leftover - ha - life is full. 

I've even recently arranged for the disposal of myself.

My dad had a very tidy ending. 

And I desire the same.