The 2nd of September.  Tired. Got in last night about ten and I'm not sure what time I fell asleep but a long day in the wheelchair equals tired body. Back hurts a lot. 

This morning, I wrote about yesterday, which took pretty much up until lunchtime. I should have then put it into a blog post but I had not the impetus to do so. That can wait until tomorrow. 

Lunch was disappointing because M&S didn't have any pretzels or cinnamon swirls, boo. Then I went upstairs to lie down, give my back a rest. At least my eyes have been less terrible today. No make up has helped. 

Then, back to crochet - some more wool got delivered yesterday and hidden in the porch (I ran out of purple, annoyingly) so the rest of my afternoon has seen me catching up with Bones and Celebrity Masterchef while working on the doily. I'm on the penultimate round now, and I really fucking hate Lesley Garrett. She is one of the most irritating people in the world, I think. 

I am yawny. New X Factor tonight, then bed. 

The 3rd of September. 

Dean is gone  

No, not gone. Cicero said the life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living, and those of us that knew him will never forget. He had such an open heart and a brilliant mind, and I feel so lucky that he took me up on my offer of cancer chat. 

Adam broke the news late this morning, and since then I have felt somewhat numb. I can't talk about it, not out loud. I don't want to be hugged. Then everything will spill out. Tears have come and gone, on my own. 

I just don't know what to say. I feel like I have been punched in the throat. Since I heard, I have buried my head in crochet, and have finished the doily. It's enormous. Where it will end up living, I don't know. I was going to give it to Grandma but I'm not sure there's space for it in her room. 

At least there is some comfort to be taken in knowing that his agony is over. I wish it hadn't been this way, that his death wasn't the reason so many people are talking about him today. He deserved more.