I’ve taken to my bed. Well, that’s not strictly true; I’ve simply come to bed early, as I’ve been promising myself for the past week. I’d love to take myself to my bed with an attack of the vapours, but that’s the sort of thing that people do to get attention. The only person who’d notice is the little dog and he wouldn’t let me get away with it.

Oh do be a darling and pass me my fan. I’m far too weak to reach it and clutch my pearls at the same time. And darling? I seem to have run out of gaspers, be a dear and bring me some. If I’m feeling a little better tomorrow, I might be able to sit in my chair by the window: I have so many letters to write to mama and dearest Fanny, but I can barely muster the strength to hold a pen. I fear I may die in this room.

I need a Mrs Danvers to tend to my every need. Or maybe I just need some early nights. I have been feeling somewhat wrecked since my brief hospital stay. And so very achy. The pains in my long bones are reminiscent of growing pains and my other joints are aching too. Woe is me. WOE is me. All I can say is that if this is what it feels like after just one dose of that drug they gave me, I hope I never have to have a full course of chemotherapy. Still, it did the job, so I shouldn’t complain.

Equinox
It’s the spring equinox. Or something like that. The clocks go forward at the weekend and the evenings will be getting lighter. And so with it, the world stretches into a sleepy wakefulness and shakes off the wintry cobwebs. Unfortunately, the world seems to be hitting the snooze button a few more times and it’s not quite ready to welcome in the spring, but it will come and with it there will be colour and freshness and warmth.

I await that first day of feeling the warming sun on my face with such anticipation. Until then though, I shall remain here in my bed, in my head at least.