It was wise counsel she gave last night, the Wildcat, suggesting that I get "at least 14 hours' sleep".
But I couldn't. It was more like six.
My brain was buzzing for hours after I went to bed and I woke early, even though young Ms Techno doesn't do her pre-work fix on a Saturday.
I'm mildly curious to know which of the lasses who've moved in next door waits for the other to leave for work or class or whatever it is, then puts her music on and turns the thumping up loud.
This ritual lasts for a quarter of an hour before she too clomps off down the stairs.
I wouldn't dream of objecting. It's clearly an important part of her day. All that comes through the wall is the beat, as dully monotonous as a metronome.
It was only this morning that the relief and the significance of Thursday's talk with the specialist sank in, leaving me brain-drained today.
It's wonderful to know, after so long, what the causes of the Condition are, that I'm not seriously ill and that it isn't all in my head.
I celebrated at the Canteen by eating my first fruit salad since April, sorry only to have missed the season of peaches and strawberries, a very trivial regret as my mind takes in all the things that the doctors thought I might have.
While some of these flowers, Wildcat, are for you, they don't include the pink "thank you" roses, since I know different ways of saying that when we meet again.
One's for Lee, whose comment here on yesterday's post has taken me totally by surprise. I had no idea she was dropping by these days! Especially after the things I've written about her and the Street behind her back...
The others are for Augustine and her alter ego to fight over. I haven't yet directly replied to their latest comments at this place, but I appreciate them very much.
It must be said, however, that those two spend so much time squabbling that it's a wonder they found the time for the Bloggers' Parliament...
Throughout the summer, many good souls were far more alarmed about me than I was, though I did my best to reassure them except in the really bad times, when it was easier simply to shut up.
It's now that I realise that I must have been much more worried about the Condition than I was ready to let on, especially to myself.
My priority today is to thank all the people who lent me support and showed understanding and patience during my "downers". And if I hear anybody slagging off the French medical profession or national health service again anytime soon, it'll be a pleasure to set them straight.
My favourite remark came from Patxi, the venerable Basque who was running the Factory's Desk Afrique yesterday when I dropped in with what I hope will be my penultimate arrêt de travail.
"Five months for a diagnosis?" he asked. "It took them five whole months to discover that you're a complete lunatic?"
The Wildcat won't see her bunch of nigella until she returns from a well-deserved rest.
I chose those because of their more common name.
Finding the frangipani took me on a world tour, from the Caribbean to parts of Africa to Asia, but I found these almost "next door", in München. Munich, to some of us.
Gifted "dabbler" in photography Manfred Leitner, who shares my taste for a trusty old Nikon camera, caught them against a dream-blue sky on Bali, an island I would still love to visit (Lonely Planet) despite the tragic bomb attack commemorated this week.
Also in his "spare time" -- a notion I find increasing absurd as each year passes -- Leitner is an inveterate voyageur. He has put hundreds of photos and very readable personal commentary on his ever-growing site, Manfred's Travel Pictures (workplace warning: music by default on the home page).
They include quite a bunch, darling, of one of the places close to your heart. More than that, I dare not say...
10:33:12 PM link