I am fragile…

Yesterday was long. A long entire morning on zoom with SWAST. Very interesting.

Then I was at a loss as to how to catch up. And then I realised that this is part of my life now, so catching up is not an issue. I just adapt my daily routine.

I had, I thought, sent a text to my boss about a phone call. He has the same first name as my closest friend. I got a reply saying he would call later through WhatsApp. The call came. I could not hear anything. And then suddenly, I hear a familiar voice who is not my boss. Suddenly I am talking to Nick Archer in Virginia. I felt stunned. It took ages to realise my error, but the call from my friend made me feel so loved. It was not a good quality call in terms of audio, but so wonderful to be chatting with him.

Afterwards, I finally realised how I made the error in texting. I never did get to speak with my boss.

Later, a family whose school application I am supporting, came. They are lovely, and I’m so glad I am able to help.

I am surprised at how sad I am that Prince Philip has died. I never thought I would. It marks the beginning of the change of an era. I don’t want to think about the Queen dying.

I have started a second course of antibiotics. This I don’t like. I am fragile, and must move slowly. I have tried to plant more of the plants that never got planted by the fake gardener who dug up my forget-me-knots, even after having them pointed out to distinguish from the Honesty. It’s been almost a month since that fiasco.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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