I've not had a good week. The demons of depression have poked and prodded me at all times of the day and night, and I've just about held it together.
My solace is family and friends, books and poetry, moments of silence. And indeed my armour has only been dented, not pierced, so I remain intact. This morning as I write, the day is unfolding into a bright, very warm pallet on which I can paint some meaningful experience. Later I will be having lunch with an amazing Iranian woman who is seeking asylum in the UK. And if there is any justice, it will be granted.
This evening family arrive from London for a birthday weekend (that being my son-in-law), so lots to look forward to. My rock is my wife, and she has to endure my not to good times, my quickness of temper and stubborness. In truth, I don't know what I would do without her?.
So onward into the day, lots more writing to do and poetry to read before I head off to the church library where I am some sort of a 'curator', that is a far too grand a title for this depressive, but it will do for now. I slept well last night, but got up very early (5.15am) and shared my tea and toast with the abundance of birdlife that visits the bird feeders and tables, in our tiny back garden.
Back on Monday, maybe not quite so early.