Anxiety dream

Today I discovered Wolfgang did not receive my reply to his book offer. His inbox had been over quota, so my email was not delivered. I discovered the notification in my spam folder. It's perfect anxiety dream stuff: you are blocked from accepting what you've worked for years to achieve. I had thought it a bit odd I'd not received a reply. And now I know why. So I resent the email, and am going also to post him a letter. Only this email has gone astray, all year. I expect it will all be okay, but bloody hell, not to mention all the other kinds of hell.

In other news, it was enervatingly hot with no end in sight.  Lorraine was kept awake with a really painful hip. A spasming muscle, probably caused by hefting people around. She was in pain all day despite stretches on the floor and so on. Despite this, we had a purposeful morning, tidying, preparing the guest room for Sue and John who are arriving on Tuesday. Under Lorraine's supervision I drilled two holes in the bathroom wall, so that the bath can be used as a standup shower too.

After lunch, Lorraine drove me to the air conditioned gym before going off to see Beth. On the way home I bought sugar with  the idea of making jam from the plums on our little tree. But when I cut into the fruit it had been attacked by some pest which had burrowed in and created dark mouldy bits near the stones. Bah. Later I poured water from a mosquitoey water butt onto wilted spinach, chard and our splendid beans. 

I made a subtle and excellent salad with pasta and grilled halloumi, while Lorraine rested her hip. Despite the best efforts of the gold sofa, Lorraine and Babylon 5, I felt grumpy. Later, idly scrolling through Facebook, I learned that Isy, Matty Boy's wife, seems to have cancer. This is horrible news. I've not been in touch with Matt for ages but my heart went out to them, and made me feel ashamed to be feeling sour over a misplaced email.