It all seems impossible. I am full, every sense is 50% over its ability to function. My brain is so mashed with sounds voices and banging. The thought of having a conversation, seeing someone makes me want to cry there's nothing left to produce any words. Sitting static and bewildered in my bed I congratulate myself for even sitting up. Writing this blog is helping. It helps to start the process of unpicking enough to at least move.
I will move, I will make it to the garden bench. Soon.