Nearly done.

Or, nearly done in.  Difficult to say which.

I think I’ve been standing in the kitchen for a week, my fingernails have been bent backwards and filled with bits of plaster so often, my hands would like to run away.

The dining table is covered in moulds.  It’s a big dining table, (though not as big as it was before the OH cut the end off.)

So far there’s been one disaster.  The Roman dolls’ doll was doing OK, I had done the first half of the mould, was all ready to pour when lo! Half a leg turned up missing.  It was there a moment ago.  I did search with my plaster going off rapidly.  The half limb, all three millimetres of it had gone through the vortex and was now in residence on planet IHADITAMINUTEAGO together with millions of odd socks, a cliff of credit cards, the broken dunked biscuit lake, Mount Contact Lens and the Flooredida Keys.

I had to make one out of plasticene in a rush, so that doll may not see the light of light.

But last night, pointing someone in the direction of the Dementia Diaries, I started reading this blog at eleven and carried on until two.  I was reading the bit where I broke my arm, was diagnosed with cancer and all the palaver that followed.  I had forgotten that I had been medically threatened with irradiation and warned that this would cause a list of awful side effects as long as your arm (with or without a long nail and five screws) ending with ‘and lifelong bleeding from the back passage.’

And a doctor said this to someone who had been the proxy to my mother’s Munchausen’s by proxy.  No wonder I refused the treatment.

As it is the longest day, in another half a year and a couple of months, I’ll find out if I have survived cancer by five years without the extra bits.  If all that they threatened me with, is what poor Kate, Princess of Wales, has gone through recently, no wonder she looks shattered.

But, and I may be a bit premature in saying this, how much better I am now.  Four and a half years ago there is no way I could have stood in the kitchen for a week.  Two years ago in July, after the major abdominal surgery, I couldn’t even sit in a chair for long.

All we ever have is today.  Today I made more moulds to make more dolls for my collectors and then, because it was still light when I stopped I did a bit of very zen watering of the garden.

Today was a good day.

If you are a regular reader and like to go back over the years or follow a theme on this blog, be cleverer than I was and get a cup of tea first, there are sixteen years of writing to read, which have inadvertently recorded the ups and downs of my life.

The doll moulds are nearly done but the writing not ever, please keep reading (it’s a dying art, you know.)


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