Leftwing Idiot got back from Glastonbury this evening and I went for some food with him, Poppy, and our friend Belle who’s come to stay at the lair for a few days. I haven’t left since Saturday evening so it was a relief to be out, and to be with friends.
It’s boiling hot, and I can’t move anywhere without wearing thick kneepads and clinging sweatily to my friends. Each time I drop down, they catch my weight and I hear them let out a breath from the exertion.
As Leftwing Idiot helped me up the stairs he said, “It’s not getting any better, is it?” – meaning my mobility. I agreed. It’s a fair observation. I felt a wave of desperation. These tics might go on for days, weeks, months or even years. They’ll either get better, or worse, or I’ll get used to them. But the worry that’s always at the back of my mind is that tics can turn up unannounced at any time and completely disrupt my life and routines.