I don't know about you, but I hate being unwell. On Thursday I awoke to the first signs (for me) of a cold; my throat felt as if I had been swallowing razor blades - actually only one at the beginning of the day but dozens by the end. I could however function reasonably well given the circumstances and trotted out happy to do the things that I had scheduled. Friday came and I was still feeling well enough to do my weekly food shopping bright and early. Bright it certainly wasn't as it was just after six and dreadfully dark, but that is just another sign that we are approaching longer nights (sigh). By the time I had finished my dutiful traipse around the supermarket and being (unsuitably) proud of myself for refusing to succumb to the chocolate, the biscuits, the crisps and the pork pies, I felt a little worse for wear. Once at home I put the shopping away and went to bed - and there I stayed until Monday morning.
One of the pleasures of living alone is that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want and however you want. I would have never been able to pander to such a whim any other way. Of course the upside doesn't always outweigh the downside of such a situation. Who can bring the mugs of steaming soup, mop my fevered brow and tell me that I still look beautiful even with puffy eyes? I staggered to the kitchen (all of six steps) in the hope that I could find something to eat that I didn't have to cook and cursed the fact that I was so good in not picking up the chocolate, the biscuits, the crisps and the pork pies. Just one of that selection would have calmed my rumbling tummy, but no, I had to make do with salad and fruit. It is not, at least in my opinion, a pleasant experience to be ill and have nothing of any comfort to cheer you. But I simply had to make do with what I had, not what I wanted.
During that weekend I slept and slept - the panacea for all ills. Mind you, the sleep was somewhat erratic as most of it was done propped up to enable me to breathe a tad easier. Of course this does mean that one gets the inevitable crick in the neck and the ever so becoming drool when one is mouth breathing. My night time sleep was interspersed with bouts of coughing; not sure that the upstairs neighbours appreciated that very much, but I considered it a kind of payback for their toddler stomping across their un-carpeted floor all hours of the day and night. Not very charitable of me, I know, but please remember that I wasn't well and I was feeling sorry for myself....
By Sunday afternoon I began to feel better, and Monday morning came around and I found I was able to drag myself out of bed (actually I am sleeping on the floor at the moment - a decision that may well come back to haunt me!). Pulling oneself up from the floor is an art in itself, when one is poorly it is more like "I need to get up" rather than "How can I do this gracefully?" Luckily for me, the door that I wanted removed is still on its hinges and that gave me great leverage; I am often grateful that the things people promise they will do for me never get done - I mean, how else could I have got up from the floor without the door there?
I am almost back to normal now; I still have a cough but that will hopefully go in the course of time and I have finally got rid of a severe headache that has plagued me for days. Now all I need is to recover the motivation to actually do some work. I live in hope......
That's all for this post - I will tell you why I am sleeping on the floor in my next blog - which could be imminent......and possibly very short.
Take care until the next time .
Susan :)
Just a little thought to ponder: "You have never failed until you quit trying". Gordon B. Hinckley
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