I could really have done without the last week.
I have been fighting a cold all week. (And when I say fighting, what I mean is “stubbornly refusing to admit that I have a”.) What I have wanted to do all week is take a day or two off, and spend it in bed, resting in an attempt to shift it, moving only to get more tea.
What I have done is work late two nights this week, in a futile attempt to get five days work done in three, then spend two days doing heavy lifting followed by going gigging. (Thea Gilmore and The Pipettes, respectively. Reviews to follow. No, not going was not an option. Don’t be stupid.)
And tomorrow, I need to get up sharply in order to get to the post office and pick up whatever it is that they failed to deliver in the week. Bah.
Has anyone got a spare set of lungs? And possibly some sinuses that aren’t full of eldritch horror? And perhaps an immune system that can fight off colds, since this is the third one I’ve had to refuse to admit to having in only slightly more than three months?
Yes, I do want your sympathy. No, I don’t have any pride. You need to be able to inhale properly in order to have pride. The inamorata is away sunning herself in a Cretian villa (at least, I hope that’s what she’s doing) and I have no one around to give me sympathy, so hand it over.
Yeah, OK, I’m going to bed.