God it was hard to get up today. There were many awakenings all of them gentle unlike the smoking days but try as I might I simply couldn't get up. I have no idea why I'm quite so tired today. Is it an accumulations of the stress and angst of such a tough term? It has indeed been tough. But why here and why now? It was gone midday when I finally emerged and I could have quite happily slept another few hours.
As you will recall Sundays are my me time, world go away days. I'm in the company of Figaro today. Is that the most sublime of Mozart's operas? I have a great love of the frivolity of The Magic Flute and the darkness of Don Giovanni. But I love Figaro too.
I realised yesterday that time until Christmas is very limited. In fact I only have a single free weekend between now and then. Miriam is away in Vietnam for the next few weeks but will join us at Christmas. Next weekend I will get on the train to visit dad, can't believe it was July last time I was down there. Must give some thought to presents at some point.
Another week starts tomorrow. On paper it looks calmer than of late. But that could well change. So I will make the most of my Sunday, roast pork, Rioja, a good read and my old friend Figaro.
I Heard a Voice.
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