Not flying, but lying down

Happy New Year to you all!
Had a lovely time with family and friends over Xmas-period, but very tired now and not up to much at all. The internet is heaven-sent in times like this – it is like an open window through which I speak to all kinds of people; where I lower my basket on a string, empty, and lightly draw it back up, filled with groceries or books or information or a red winter-coat - all without ever leaving the flat.
It’s nice not to have the focus on being ill. You can be as slow as you like – no hassle. Nobody knows if your speech is slurred from tiredness, or how many times you’ve had to go back to the computer to get that message written. Better still, nobody knows (unless you tell them) if you’re still in your pj’s or even wearing yesterday’s clothes, if your hair is by its wash-by-date or if it’s one of those lucky days when you’ve finally triumphed and washed your hair in the morning and it feels silken and soft, almost as if it isn't yours, but a soft warm animal having temporarily landed on your head and letting its long fur hang while it snoozes. Not today though.
So for now the internet makes for my most consistent link to the wider world: During those times when I’m too unwell to get out or see friends or even have telephone conversations, I still creep to my computer to check for e-mails or messages on my blog, which I may or may not answer or even fully read, but just for that feeling of connection. Thanks for bearing with me - I don't answer my messages as often as I'd like to. And thanks for keeping them coming.
And again, loudly: Happy New Year to you all!

Three shades of red

Yesterday I accidentally cut the top of my left index finger with a scalpel knife. It didn’t hurt, so I only noticed when I looked down at my khaki-clad legs which were generously dotted with what I initially took for drops of beetroot juice. The dots kept multiplying under my eyes until I realised blood was dripping from a shiny red finger.
This morning I washed the dishes, as usually wearing Woolworth’s own 49 p yellow rubber gloves, medium size. When I took the left one off, a finger emerged wet with blood. The wound had opened again, what with the hot and humid climate inside the glove. Peering into the rubber sheath I found that the white lining inside the index finger was brilliant red. I filled the glove with water and poured it out into the sink several times; each time the water came out a paler shade.
Later-on when I prepared to make juice from beetroot, carrots, celery and an apple I forgot to put the receptacle under the spout. Pressing down on the first slice of beetroot I saw a dark pool of crimson form on the gleaming white worktop.