I can’t believe how busy life is.

OK, I know it’s the same for everyone in the run-up to Christmas, but it all seems to be happening at once, and I’m spending so much time planning how to fit everything in that I don’t actually have any time left to fit anything in. The friends I normally see over New Year are asking me to say when in January I can go and visit, and the calendar for January is pretty full already: That’s without factoring in a weekend away that I’d been tentatively arranging with another friend. Unless I let someone down, I’m not actually going to have a weekend at home in January…

Last night, while sitting in the steam room, I wrote (in my head) a little story, involving a farmer, a parachutist and an anvil: It was quite a cleverly crafted little story in its way, and I was going to share it with you all. But one person, had they read my blog (and you never know who’s reading) might have spotted the hidden meaning and been upset, and that’s not the purpose of blogging.

So far, I’ve got through the day without any painkillers. Unfortunately that’s not because I didn’t need them, but because I used the last of my work supply yesterday, and forgot to take any more with me this morning. Ow.

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