not so easy any more

 The return home at three thirty this morning after the long drive from the Schwarzwald in the west of the country, near the French border was a subdued affair. Turn the car around so that there will be no problems for the companion to just drive home. Wish him goodnight, take the bag with the gear and unlock the door to the house.

Go upstairs, acknowledge that everything is in a mess and that there is nobody to blame for it.

Walk around the small flat for a short while, and then go to bed.

At eight, go to the doctor's practice, an appointment where he explains that which is known already. There are no signs of any cancer. Talk with him for a short while, then leave.

Do the shopping in the mall nearby, remember to buy cat food. 

Return home, and lie down in bed to sleep for a few minutes, still being tired. Then sort out the pictures for the local Scot and his family. The offer to do them for free has whetted the mans appetite, there are quite a few of them that he wants. Set up the system to transfer them to him, then all is done.

Then go downstairs, to make up a snack. The kitchen is a catastrophic scene of untidiness again.

Go upstairs again, lie down for a few minutes to escape the depression and the frustration.

Wake up in the late afternoon, and realise that driving for half the night is an escapade that young people may get away with easily, but at this age it is not so easy any more.