It’s now 10:30, Sunday morning. I’ve been up for about an hour - I arrived downstairs to find the children had made their own breakfast without complaint. They hadn’t cleared up after themselves, but I’m not about to start picking at straws. Little victories.
Both myself and W are ill. I have been ill for most of the last week, but didn’t want to burden anybody with it - I hate the bellyaching that most people indulge in on Facebook. I took my temperature yesterday - nearly 100. The weird thing is I don’t actually feel that bad when my nose is unblocked. In a fit of desperation the other evening I squirted some nasal spray up my nose - I didn’t realise you weren’t supposed to squirt it that hard. It went straight down the back of my throat, and felt like somebody set a fire in my nose, and poured toxic waste into my mouth. Not good.
Enough of the complaining. I am getting better. Slowly. It’s nice to have some impetus to write today.
I’m listening to “February Song” by Josh Groban. While I realise the music snobs of the world will start elbowing each other and sniggering, I think I’ll tell them to go suck it. I don’t mind Josh Groban; he’s good wallpaper music. Pleasant, but ultimately forgettable. If I listen to anything too good, I get nothing done because I just sit and rock out to it.
While trying to think of what to write next, my nose appears to have gone on an extended snot production run again. It’s not funny any more.
I’ll try and have something worth reading soon. Honest.