The 16th of June.
I have a tiny bit of good news. I gave the ciclosporine eye drops another go last night, fully prepared for it to be awful again. But it was fine. It stung a bit, and first thing this morning was a bit tricky, but it was so much better than last time. So now that extra line of treatment for my eyes is up, let’s hope that helps.
So it’s been a quiet day. I wrote up a blog post this morning and this afternoon I did some podcast listening and redid all the crochet I’d had to unravel. Now back to where I was, I can try to finish. Will have to do most of it tomorrow because on Sunday, new kitties come, so I will be super distracted. I need some tiny floofs.
The more that comes out about Grenfell, the worse if gets. The Queen and Prince William visited victims today, Theresa May only went to the hospital where she could control the narrative. Then she goes to a church but nobody sees her and she sneaks out of a side door. No council-lead support; everything is being done by the volunteers. Everybody in power is doing the bare minimum, sometimes not even that. It’s inhumane.
The 17th of June.
So hot. So bright. Being on Voriconazole means I’m not really allowed to go in the sun (it majorly increases the risk of getting skin cancer and since we know someone who did get it because they didn’t know, I’m not taking any chances), so I can’t go outside and enjoy it, but even if I could, I’d be so photosensitive, I’d be blind. I miss being able to see without pain.
It’s been mainly a day of crocheting. Want to finish the doily. And I’m doing very well – I’ve got one round left. Although focusing on tiny crochet hasn’t been great for the eyes. Finish a round, have a rest. Lots of drops.
Very little to say. I iced some cakes and put sugar elephants and ducks on them. I climbed the stairs and it was fine. That was a really good feeling. It’s been so long since I didn’t need an immediate rest when I got to the top.