WINDING THE CLOCK

We've made it through Saturday. Nothing terrible has happened, Mama is fed, medicated, and in bed. Not sleeping, we're talking. She's asking me questions, I'm saying yes, no, I don't know, I have no idea. She rephrases and I still have no idea.
I've learned how to flush the PICC line and how to dispose of needles. I haven't disposed of any but I know how it is done.
My legs feel like I am dragging around tires tied to my ankles, my shoulders are bent, my back is, well let's just say I know where it hurts.
I've neglected Clem & Trixie for a few days. On Sunday they will have my attention. Clem is learning new words, he loves words. Trixie is managing to keep out of the sewing room. Ambrosia is having trouble with her leg. Trixie's mother is cutting quilt pieces. Trixie is looking the other way. Clem is looking at Trixie.
I haven't seen the guardian possum for two nights but I'm sure he has been at the back door for his late night supper of cat food or left-over pork chops.
The clock is striking midnight, about 5 minutes late. I love to hear it strike. When I was a little girl visiting Essa Cova I listened to their clocks, one upstairs, one downstairs. They were never exactly on the same time. Before we went to bed the clocks were wound. Cova wound the downstairs clock and Essa the one upstairs. I usually helped wind the clocks. I'll wind my clock before I go to sleep and move the hand up 5 minutes or so. I hope I hear it strike every hour.
I think Mama has gone to sleep, she has stopped talking to me and is breathing evenly. She won't sleep for long, soon will be up to the bathroom. She will tell me how sorry she is to wake me and how she hates for me to do things for her. I don't know how to reassure her that it is okay. Maybe she knows.