A musical interlude

I'm harpsichording today and tomorrow, and pub-songing tomorrow evening. God knows how I'm going to get through it. I hate being ill. I feel it very keenly, that there isn't an 'other' to help one think, to help with everyday things, and to help one get through. I never manage to rest, which would be the best therapy, because I still need to shop, cook, and do all the necessary things. I have to go out when I need to be in bed. Hate it.