My head feels like a boiled haggis and I'm clearly no nearer being better. I'm fed up with sitting, lying or slouching in bed all day, forcing myself to go downstairs to get food and drink, putting the electric blanket on when I get back under the covers and then having to turn it off again quickly when I get too hot, coughing fit to burst, sweating and having change everything and sleep on a towel, dreading the nights, dreading the mornings, bored and irritated and cross. Why do viruses have to last so long?
Going into my study to get print-outs of the Times crossword and killer sudokus each day, I lean on the windowsill and gaze out over the garden. Thank goodness there's something to like, even if these last several days have been ideal for doing all those autumn jobs I so enjoy but can't undertake. I keep telling myself it could be worse, and of course it's true. But it could be better too, and that'sthe one I want. Old miseryguts.
No comments:
Post a Comment