Yesterday, in snail-mode, I struggled to get out of the house, onto some transport — bus, train, cab, car-share. All coming with timetables, places to catch, and the last one impenetrably with a forgettable password and a pin. No-one else I know has trouble signing up to Uber!
When my eyes and mind are greedy, I start making promises to come here and there, this event that meet-up. I have great intentions. But, physically — 15 months post-chemo — I’m capable of about half of what I sign up for.
So, yesterday. Snail-mode is when I’m slow. Though it was a lovely day outside, sun shining with a nippy little breeze in the shade, I signed off on the event. Did not catch any of the above transport. Did not visit, nor explore further, my favorite building in Brisbane. Emailed the organizer my abject apologies.
And so, since the sun still beckoned me outside, and I didn’t want to dwell on the cop-out — what it felt like — I loaded my trusty pack-horse with my three-week-overdue books, pushed it to the Stones Corner Public Library. A good walk of four kilometres. The sun a benison.
No Cure for Being Human, by Kate Bowler, 2021, Penguin Random House, one of my new borrows, is the most amazingly appropriate book for how I was feeling.