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Wish I could find a good book to live in
I could retire to a monastery and contemplate the ephemerality of human existence. After yesterday (three staff sick, 8:15-6, no breaks) and today (chapter of accidents it would be tedious to relate), retiring to a monastery is looking very good indeed. But it would have all the narrowness of a monastery, whereas here has more scope for, oh, whatever: finally working out what works, perhaps.
Understand, this is not cheerfulness or gaman in me. I am speaking from a combination of ativan and wine, not too much of either, but enough to assuage the physical aches of yesterday and the psychic twinges of today. (Also: I could *move* after yesterday's marathon, which as recently as last month I could not have.)
Understand, this is not cheerfulness or gaman in me. I am speaking from a combination of ativan and wine, not too much of either, but enough to assuage the physical aches of yesterday and the psychic twinges of today. (Also: I could *move* after yesterday's marathon, which as recently as last month I could not have.)