Another low day yesterday. The sads usually overcome me on Sundays. I have no idea why it happens on this day.
Maybe it’s because the next day is the start of a new work week which I now dread? (Work has changed for me in a way I’m trying to comprehend).
Maybe because it’s usually a whole day ahead where nothing is planned and it’s a pretty boring day?
Maybe because grey, wet, miserable days don’t want me getting out of bed?
Maybe because of the state of the world at the moment?
Regardless, I spent much of the day in bed yesterday under the covers. Around midday, I forced myself to get up, get dressed. I told my husband I was going for a drive. I had no idea where I was going. I found myself at the small village of Sandringham by the beach and walked around there looking at people at cafes enjoying lunch.
I walked down to the rocky cliffs and watched the beach. It was pretty rough with the wind and no one about so I walked back to the shops thinking it may be relatively safer.
The library was due to open at 1pm so I hung around the front door for a five minutes and when it opened wandered in despite the librarians telling us it was flood damaged in the children’s area. I didn’t stay for long. I perused the shelves for a bit before coming back home soon after, jumping back into bed and sleeping three hours.
I arose early evening just in time to watch the news and then Eastenders and do a bit of knitting feeling a lot better.
I then spent the rest of the night in bed until the wee hours reading William Bligh’s personal account of the mutiny on his ship, Bounty and the new book by Hugh McKay on Kindness.