Wednesday 28th November 2018

Mid-week.

Another day working from home, and weather so foul outside that not even ducks would go out. But Mulder dies. In an out, in an out. Coning in each time to shake himself near me and then realises he might quite like to try some roast beef sandwiches.

Yes, rain day in St Maggies, and the rain did fall from the middle of the night, through dawn into the day, round midday and was still pouring as the sun gave up and sank below the horizon early.

In the meantime I worked.

All was going well until just before eleven, when out of the blue I get a migraine.

Not that bad, as I don't get headaches, just the flashing lights. But anyway, work was impossible. So I go to lay on the sofa with the curtains closed, and just want peace and quiet.

Meow?

Soaking wet Mulder came to check on me and suggest I might like to give him food. And once the lights fade, I do.

But if I wasn't careful, the migraine would come back, so once I had caught up with work at about two, I switch the computer off and stare at the walls, anything to avoid using me eyes.

I have the radio on quiet, and so the day slips through my fingers, and the long dark afternoon of the soul begins.

Just soup for dinner, with slices of home made garlic bread, and no booze. Quite right too. And after writing the blogs, I switch the computer off and go upstairs to lay in bed to listen to the football on the radio, where Scully joins me and lays beside, purring loudly.

Not a bad end to a crappy day, really.