There are lots of programs about big cats, so in the late afternoon I often sit and watch them, and get very caught up in the enthusiasm of the cat watchers, and their anxieties about whether any of the cubs will survive the depredations of their animal foes and competitors. Wouldn't it be nice if I could similarly hunt down those who are doing their best to prey on me? Now that would be an interesting documentary. Alas, wishful thinking.
I am crocheting, so as to keep the hands busy and my mind occupied by matters requiring attention to details but yet of relatively little import.
Having swapped the wrong printer inks for the right printer inks, I resumed photocopying, and once more fell into the mire of the inevitable muddle. I had yet another appointment with the lawyer, several days ago. I took my little suitcase full of documents, but as, after all that, I was not required to leave them all there, trundled off home with most of the contents.
My lawyer emailed me late in the day with a draft response - as agreed a NO response. It is a pity professional etiquette (as well as common sense) precludes me from being abusive to the other side. But when the offer made is significantly worse than the original provisions, what can they expect? Perhaps they wrote it thinking it was 1 April, as I can't see how it could possibly have been a serious offer. Enough already. We have replied rejecting their proposal. It always pays to proof read: I (fortunately) found a couple of significant typos which substantially altered the intended meaning. Having done that, I then paid the latest bill. There is probably no discount for my having picked up the significant typos.
Earlier this week, on the urgings of my family and my doctor, I met the counsellor whom I saw when trying several years ago to deal with the problem of the Wicked Step Daughter (WSD). Having to give a full account of all the events since then, particularly of the last year, and describing Dr P's death, was very difficult, but has been accomplished. The counsellor expressed her view that I had done all the right things throughout, told me she was most impressed, and that my situation is indeed dire, but that I should fight on. And indeed I will. I hope seeing the counsellor will help me cope with all the tension.
The thing is, it is almost impossible to think of anything else other than my predicament and the problems of achieving a just outcome, which gives me freedom of choice, and the time to work out what will be best for me. Although I read, listen to music, study, see friends, go to choir, make the jam, go for walks, and do whatever else takes my fancy, my mind is consumed, obsessive even, and almost totally absorbed by my pain and my problems. It harps upon it all. It must be borne. But goodness me, it is like a stuck record, relentlessly repetitive, and needing intervention. Remember stuck records?
Perhaps when all this is resolved I can have a long long holiday, far, far away....