Still feeling quite ropey.

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It's to do with adrenalin I think, when you can't sleep and feel tearful, shacky and generally a bit rough. I have barely left the house since the extraction. Little man is doing well but can't expect him to keep it up. It's not really fair on the grandparents but can hear the health visitors telling me not to worry he's fine, he's feed, he's happy and sometimes he is clean too. In the mean time I am getting better, working for the future and growing with him. The place that makes much sense at the moment is here or my bed but the poems are going good. 'War poem' has become 'war' and is hovering near the line limit and making increasing grammatical sense. The report is well considered of not properly drafted and there is the start of a competition entry, 5 pages, weaving it all, chucking it all in a big pot, and giving it a big stir with a very big spoon. Watching things sink and bubble up.

Time......

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