Good job I read my horoscope this morning. It said:
I am beginning to feel a little bit like a relationship counsellor. Yesterday, I attempted to mediate a conversation between you and your luck. Today, I carry with me another request, this time on your confidence. It, too, would like a negotiation session. It feels ignored, undermined, disempowered. It wants to spend more time with you. But apparently, you are giving all your attention to a fascinating annoyance or a mesmerising anxiety, leaving your confidence bereft and abandoned. This weekend brings a real opportunity to patch things up.
Good job because this is the haiku I felt would be better not to blog this morning:
If death were my friend
I'd shake its hand and say hi
but I'd miss my son
I'm taking my son to my parents later. My mum said she'd inflate the blowup mattress for him in the room we share and cook our favourite meal.
Like I said yesterday, it's good space for convalescence. My son's going to be doing his first confession. Should I do my first confession in decades too?
I might pop into a church and have a little pray. I can't seem to stop crying.