Item – H is feeling a lot better. Friday night was the worst, in terms of Horrible Minutes Trapped In Bathroom. Saturday, he draped his person across various beds and arm-chairs, sulking and occasionally, when he had the energy, complaining, feverish and stomach-achey. And today, he declared himself well enough to go out for lunch and dragged me to the nearby pub so he could eat roast beef. I pointed out he was pushing his luck, rather, but he merely smiled beatifically at me before grinding to a halt half-way through the yorkshire puddings. Ha. But, yes, indeed, he is feeling a lot better. Even his burnt hand is a lot better (though, you know, blisters, ick).
Item – Early this morning I dreamt I finally had a baby daughter, and she was lying in my arms, breastfeeding (even in the dream this gave me a strange, visceral thrill of bewildered happiness – my own daughter at my breast, my body finally doing something right and doing it well), and H and I were looking lovingly at this darling child and rejoicing in her existance, that after all we’d gone through she was finally here, in our arms. And then, with a sudden lurch of anxiety, I realised I couldn’t remember her name. We’d given her such a pretty one. What was it? Minx? No, that was my niece’s name. Willow? Rose? What was her name? Worried, I bent my head to look at her again, to see if that would jog my memory, and realised I was holding a plastic doll. There was no baby. I sat bolt upright in a sweat of fear and shame, that I’d mistaken a doll for a living child, and realised I was awake. April Fool. Damn it.
Item – Meanwhile H (banished to the spare bed in the study for snoring violations) had also had a bad dream. He was at a big family dinner-party, and then when he got up from the table to clear up, he saw one of the guests had hung herself, and all the while he’d been drinking and playing cards and having a good time, she’d been dangling there behind them all, ignored. And she had the face of H’s aunt, who really did kill herself a few years ago. Of course, today would have been her birthday. Oh, my poor beloved H.
Item – So, there we both are, after our week’s holiday, strung out, exhausted from lack of sleep, recovering from a trifecta of health attacks and/or from looking after a chap with a trifecta of health attacks, and now both nervous wrecks as well because our respective subconsciouses decided today was a good day to get a thorough kicking in. Pfft. Holidays. Who needs them.