17.4.26 - 114 - Walls

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It has been seven weeks since I've been here. It's sort of mad. Seven weeks. That's almost two months.

In that two months, Pa had gotten cancer and passed away. I have given up my life in Ireland. I cleaned the house. Cut my hand. Completed by 52 short stories. 

It's mad really.

Anyway, it is what it is.

Tomorrow, I find out if my wrist has improved. It will be 18 days since I sliced it open. Only 18 days. I wouldn't say it hurts - its more like a weird pins and needles. I was very depressed last week when I was told that my hand had not recovered as yet. But yesterday I went on an hour long walk to Punggol Park and I did feel better.


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