On the way home from work last night a car forced me into the hedgerow alongside the road. When I got home I realised the front tyre of my bike was punctured. Again. I then woke this morning with a sore throat, and a snotty nose. I’m going to write a formal letter of complaint to my body - asking what the hell is going on. It’s now five weeks since I caught the first cold.
So I walked to work today. It’s only three miles door to door - it takes perhaps fifty minutes. I listened to podcasts along the way. It only occurred to me about a mile in that I would have to walk home - and that I had suggested to my eldest daughter that we might go for a run this evening. I make my own problems.
While talking to one of the wonderful ladies I work with earlier, she questioned if I should take some time off - use up some of the holiday I have accrued over the last couple of years. I laughed, and suggested that staying at home would actually be more stressful than being at work - there’s no way I would be able to leave any of the chores alone.
Sod it. I’m going home. I have nothing to do this afternoon. I’ve been picking away at a few research things in preparation for future work - but really there’s no reason for me to be here, coughing like an idiot.