I was going to use one of the titles you so kindly donated to me last week when I was in extremis, writey-blocky wise, and asked you to, but I am too tired to go and look one up right now, so I am just going to tell you how Horribly and Dreadfully Sick I am, instead, and then sit back and hope you give me some sympathy before I get better, which should be hopefully tomorrow, because I am not really *that* sick.
Anyway, I am going to tell you about my sick, like this was an old school diary blog and no one read it, (which is some more and some less true, to various extents) and I was just an anonymous person that didnt care what people thought of me and anyway. I am not getting nearly enough sympathy from my beloved (mainly because I only have a slight cough)
A couple of nights ago, I had a bit of a tickly throat before I went to sleep, and it was difficult to get to sleep but then I did go to sleep all the same, and slept until the normal time in the morning. I know, its so thrilling even I can barely bear it, and I know how it ends!
My mother came for lunch the day after that barely interrupted night of sleep. Not from Scotland – that would have been lovely, but slightly over-the-top – but from nearer by, where she had been, and we went and had something to eat. I had salad, and so did my mother, and My beloved had some of that wet rice Ive never really understood the point of.
(This bit isnt related to the main me being ill story, so dont get all detectivey and try and pick up clues about just what in the motherly visit or the lunch might have led me to being ill, because it isnt anything to do with those things. If you ARE going to be detectivey, I would suggest you looking just a little further back to the subtle hints about tickly throats I was dropping a minute ago, but seriously – you really might as well not bother because Im going to get to the point in a second anyway)
And then my mother left and immediately I announced my intention to nap, and disappeared upstairs – which reminds me, Ive been meaning to post about societys divide between bed-naps and sofa-naps, by the way, dont let me forget – and then slept very heavily apart from the fact I couldnt breathe without it causing me to go kof! kof kof! kof kof kof! – which really isnt the most condusive sleeping position, as it turns out, and you cant take sleeping pills for naps, because that way madness lies.
I got up and did some work and, as soon as I had finished that, collapsed in a little pile on the sofa and had a little bit of a cry, as thats what I do when I am under the weather (or pre-menstrual, tired, jetlagged, anxious, cross, having a depressive episode, watching something even vaguely sad on telly or so many many other things, lets face it) and then crawled back to bed, where I proceeded to sleep for a good – and unusual – 10 hours. Then woke up coughing.
My beloved had to go into London, so I thought I was going to have to sit around feeling sorry for myself all day, which hardly seemed fair, but then a nice lady with a clipboard knocked on the door and I invited her in to feel sorry for me instead. She said she was from Mori and her name was Judy, and she was very nice. She communed with the cats, and was duly sympathetic every time I coughed loud enough, but she did also insist on asking me lots of pesky questions about doctors and online activity (I was able to answer yes to every single thing under the what have you done online in the last month? section, thank you very much. Oh, apart from download porn, but I may have to change that soon, for reasons I will eplain another day, I promise) although never wanted to have a nice conversation about the things she was asking about, she only wanted numbers and degrees of satisfiedness and yeses and noes. She would ask about how many shoes I had bought on eBay recently, but did she want to SEE the shoes? No. Well thats just rude, I thought.
And then Judy left, and I drank lots of cough medicine and I ate drugs and slept more and read some and had some more small cries and napped and coughed and by tomorrow Ill be better.
And that is the end of my story.
It wasnt a very good story but I wanted to post something and I just thought typing – even tired typing – would get that done.
UPDATE, FRIDAY MORNING:
Yes, I am feeling a lot better.