The Bloody Doors Off

I haven’t written since we returned home.

Whatever muse visited me at the cottage stayed behind.

Even this is excruciating.

Searching for words.

The title popped into my head yesterday.

Looked up the rest of the lyrics.

Definitely doesn’t speak to how I feel.

Which is.

Kinda numb.

Mentally.

I had menial jobs waiting my return.

Knocked those out in no time.

End up going back to bed this morning.

Which I rarely, if ever, do during the week.

Always alert, should a request appear in my inbox.

Today I slept through one.

Got it in time.

Took half an hour.

I need to be alert this week.

Doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon.

Dentist on Thursday.

That’ll kill half my day.

Ugh.

This is Paul.
Paul didn’t take proper care of his teeth.
And now he’s losing a bunch of them.
Don’t be like Paul.

That’s a cautionary tale, if ever there was one.

Still not used to the buggers.

I can wear them for longer, but suspect I’ll be investing in Poligrip just the same.

No one wants me to pop these babies out at the dinner table.

Hehe. Had to look up how to spell ‘Poligrip’. I wanted to spell it Polygrip.

Puts a spin on the meaning, doesn’t it?

Random thought.

I wonder if Harold got left at the cottage?

Lost on that long road he wanted me to walk.

Here’s hoping.