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That night I've not forgotten
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I heard this on the radio today as I was driving along past the harbour in grey drizzly gloom and was stunned all over again at the powerful, concise storytelling:

Restorative yoga this afternoon, which did indeed restore me, apart from my leg muscles which are still complaining a bit. It's a very different class to my usual one at the Buddhist centre (which I haven't been doing due to a heavy cold and a clash with the art group, but I hope to return this Thursday). Of course they're both slightly different types of yoga - today's being all about doing the poses with blocks, bolsters etc to support you, so all you have to do is relax into them and let gravity do the work, and the other one being his own variation on basic yoga that he calls something that isn't vagina though it does sound like it, and is kind of mindful, in that he witters on about the teachings of ancient yoga masters and keeps you very much in the moment. Both of them are inclined to tell you What Yoga Is (either something spiritual, 'We don't do yoga, we become yoga,' or purely practical and physical - a way of keeping fit), both of them in terms that brook no discussion. My conclusion is that I like it and don't care what it is, it makes me feel better, every time without fail. I did prefer being able to go to a class on Mondays and Thursdays though - Tuesday is too close and then there's a longer gap.

I'm drivelling on now, apologies. I haven't finished yet either.

My girl finally made it back to the care home today, first out and home by 10 am. Apparently she's in good spirits but I await a report from her sister who's going there on Thursday. Then we're doing a whole family visit on Sunday.

I found myself having a brutally honest conversation with the woman who works in the launderette this morning about panic attacks, suicide, hacking off hair etc. I can't remember how she came to tell me a while ago that her daughter has mental health problems, but she did and I owned up to mine (actually, maybe I blurted that out first) and today we ended up saying all sorts of things as if we were alone when in fact there were people only a few feet away - how can this happen?

I am grateful for: another day of dodging heavy showers and not getting soaked once; last day of smoking - probably two more fags then done forever; clean bedding and clean me - a rare occurrence and I shall try not to spill my hot milk over either; I now have a big pot of chicken stock to make Bex's soup with tomorrow; I am recouping energy much better after quick rests - all good

sweet dreams xxx

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