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Too tired, too much going on. Daughter asleep in my bed, GS on the sofa.

Good news: my cpn told me that when the recovery group finishes there's going to be a self-compassion one running and she's put my name down for it. Thank fucking fuck. I hadn't realised how much the imminent loss of the psych team was making me anxious - I just don't feel ready to be launched back into operating solo with all this stuff going on. Moving, bloody hell. Etc. So that's all good.

Today I spent a decade or so waiting for YD to come back from fetching Grandson, then the rest of eternity plodding round fucking Ikea, getting bits of tat to transform his bedroom into a young man's study/bedroom rather than a child's playroom. Then I drove home. I spent a gazillion quid and we had to park miles from my flat so god knows what we've got and whether it will still be there in the morning.

Hope you are all well, dear friends.

I am grateful for: getting home safe and sound; GS actually starting to want things, choose things, laugh, lark about a bit; chicken dinner; the wind's died down; made it through again - still 100%, yay, go me!


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