Working on poems first thing, and one of them beginning to sing a little. Then a story rejection. Boo! Then into a morning spent with a virtual Keith working on the octopus job. This done by lunchtime, I then wasted hours chasing the disorganised agency I did some work with the other week to find out who to send my invoice to - a process which has taken four days and nine emails, during which I learned I should have been sent a timesheet but wasn't etc. The process finally clarified, I agreed to work with them again, being booked all next week.
Off then to the Brighton Centre for my 3:50 appointment to get my jab. I would have given it in a heartbeat to Lorraine, of course. Earlier, I posted a picture of Jabba the Hutt on my facebook, and only Beth got it.
The whole business felt a bit like voting: important but with no fanfares or trumpets. Luckily I did not collapse in twitching anaphylactic shock. I felt my privilege thinking of folks in greater need all around the world. But I am not one to look a gift needle in the sharp scratch. Oddly solitary affair, although I spoke to the few people processing me pleasantly enough. The inside of the Brighton centre, usually housing major events, felt big and empty.
Betty had phoned me for a chat this morning while driving. Very touched by how pleased she was I was getting jabbed.
Walked home, then more wrangling with the disorganised agency. Lorraine home early, and I walked her across the park to get her mammogram checkup. We were walking into the setting sun, which had dropped under the cloud layer to produce a gorgeous pink and peach sunset, daubing gaudy colour on cars and other surfaces. I turned back for home when Lorraine went in, as but the appointment only took her a few minutes, as they are only processing one person at a time.
In the evening began to feel slightly washed out with a slightly hurty arm. A small price to pay.
Below the weirdest gig ever at the Brighton Centre, and the last of the sunset.