dear diary

It seems inappropriate, trivial even, to blog about the irritations of my own little life when others are going through much worse. However, I promised myself I would document these times, so here goes.

This week I've been so tired I've gone home at lunchtime for a couple of cat-naps, handy that I only live ten minutes away from where I work. My eyes are sticky and heavy again and the nettle devils are back. Mum wasn't too bad on Friday. She must be turning over a new leaf - she phoned her neighbour and invited her over for a cup of tea (this is the neighbour she hates with a passion!).

Saturday was even better. Mum was in a good mood and appreciative of the shopping I did for her - she wasn't up to going to Morrisons with me, thank goodness, so I got round in a third of the time. Mum had her emergency call equipment removed - she didn't want to keep it and pay for the service. I just hope she doesn't have a fall/another stroke. Still shattered, I had a snooze after lunch and left just before 5pm, calling at the retail park on the way home to look for a belated Christmas present for long-suffering husband. No luck.

Up at 8 this morning, I've put some washing in the machine and later will try to motivate myself to clean up the house. Have promised mum I'll go round about 6 and watch Dancing on Ice with her - she loves Torvill and Dean.