It's been a long eventful summer. Following on from my bowel investigations within 2 weeks I was on a long planned trip to Surrey/Sussex to visit family. I didn't feel too chipper. My innards were still a bit unsettled. I felt sad and scared. I knew by then that the polyps were of the type that could turn cancerous. And so would undergo a colonoscopy again next year. Oh well - at least I now know what to expect.
At the time of my visit my sister was grieving: she'd had an old much loved dog put down and a work colleague, who was a really good friend, had died unexpectedly. One way and another we were both for different reasons tired and in shock.
The events once again raised my anxiety levels; along with feelings of grief and sadness.
Feeling so tired we did less than usual. Eating, drinking, chatting, dozing and walking the dogs. And reading. I rediscovered the joy and solace of losing myself in reading. Fiction. Becoming lost in a tale. Escapism.
I've always read a great deal. But of late, the last 10 years. I've been reading for research, personal development and information gathering. Knowledge is Power.
Or, rather, should that be Ignorance is Bliss? I'm certainly more relaxed now I can lose myself in a book or 3.
I realised on my return home that I spend far too much time worrying about, for and on behalf of MyMan. That life is passing me by. I resolved once and for all to get some balance back into my life.
That's what I've been working on the last few months.