Some days are just grumblefutz days. Today the sun is shining, the wind is gentle, the temperature mild, and yet I'm grumblefutzing my arse off. The malady is melancholy. Poetic, huh?
It seems that the Bubble has burst. Am still waiting for the results of the latest series of blood tests, but know in my heart that it's over. I'll try and pull my head out of my arse later this week, but for now I'm going to stay in grumblefutz land. Knitting, with tea and a cat. And wool socks (stole some from the husband). And my hap shawl. And a homemade quilt or two.
Maybe, once medical confirmation of the end of the Bubble has come in, I will drown myself in apricot brandy. Seems like a sensible thing to do.