If I had the energy. But I don't. Each morning I wake up feeling worse and I dose myself up with a cocktail of ibuprofen, paracetamol and vitamins just so I can make out through the day. My older sister took charge of my kids yesterday, she bathed them and finished the gingerbread house that we had started on the 27th. She took them to the park for ages.
She's probably hoping I'm better today. I'm really not though.
There is something mildly comforting in being ill at the house I grew up in, all the sounds are the same - the wind in the trees, the birds in the garden. Someone playing piano in the music room below me. Houses have sounds that are like the voice of a person, totally unique to them. The echo of spoons on bowls as cereal is eaten in the kitchen, the sound of the cars passing on the road outside. They all sound just right, from the right distance away.
Out of the window I can see all the trees that were a part of my childhood, stretching across the gardens behind.
At some point in the night I heard an owl. I hadn't realised, when I was a child, the owl calls weren't a normal sound in many peoples childhoods.
I do wish that I'd brought a nightshirt or pyjamas, to venture out of the room I have to get dressed in clothes that hurt the aches!
Rich is coming back today, he's been at his mum's. Last night she was going through all the financial paperwork with him, showing him where everything is. I think she's feeling scared, she wasn't her usual self when we saw her on Saturday.
I'm not sure what to do though, she doesn't want to leave her house but she's so isolated where she is. sigh
Well, I shall take this downbeat entry and publish it.
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