Timor Mortis Conturbat Me

I'm only halfway through this Wednesday and already I'm exhausted and ready for bed.
The early morning visit to the gym in the pouring rain can't have helped my tiredness, but what really tipped me over the edge was the crawling into the dark recesses of the turret cupboard and hauling out inordinately heavy portfolios, sundry cases, a doll's cot, a hobby horse and various framed pictures, while tripping over camping equipment, a vacuum cleaner and a rack of unwanted clothes.

Then I had to examine everything, which had me crawling over the floor again, looking through drawings and paintings, which is when I came across the little case of saved cards and pictures from years back when the children were at an age that believed I was the best mummy in the world.
Cards that said things like - Happy Birthday, you are the best mummy in the world or Thank for all that you do for me or Happy Mother's day, put your feet up and have a rest.
It made me feel guilty, because I know I wasn't the best mummy in the world but I was all they had, poor things. The good thing is they seemed to have survived me to become interesting and well balanced adults.

Although the morning produced yet another carload of 'stuff' for the charity shop, a load of belongings for the children to up load, this little case of love will be kept somewhere, somehow, if only under my bed.

Now, this afternoon, I'm awaiting delivery of a self assembly chair. His Lordship says he will do the necessary. I shall keep well out of range of the flying glasses and the bad language.


PS This little fly departed life yesterday, despite being helped back on its feet by me. It is now one very deid fly.
The title is from a poem by William Dunbar a 15/16th century poet