Item – I have a headache. I have had this headache since Friday. I am sick of this headache.
Item – I am spotting and cramping again, so I am assuming the Red Menace will turn up in full force tomorrow. Which was when I was expecting it to turn up before the wet spotting thing happened on Saturday and threw me completely.
Item – Bah.
Item – H has been in the wars a tad too. He had a skin-tag removed from his armpit last week. It had been there for years, quietly not bothering anyone, and suddenly this summer he started catching it on things and it even got infected and H had to take antibiotics, which goes against his hippy principles. So, snip. So far, the little wound left isn’t bothering him much at all, but it looks a heck of a crater to me. Perhaps I should stop looking at it. (Surely it’s a wife’s duty to keep an eye on her husband’s armpit?).
Item – H’s grandparents aren’t well. Mostly Old Age Setting In type things, but H’s grandmother in particular is very distressed at facing limited mobility and independence, especially as she still has 127% of her marbles left and is a rather feisty, sociable, rushing-about lady. So that was depressing.
Item – My Dad’s slowly falling to bits. His ankylosing spondylitis is worse, so he can barely move his neck at all. He has angina. The GP has given up trying to get him to stop smoking and drinking and has taken to begging him to smoke and drink less. My Dad thinks it’s clever to drink just as much as ever while making lots and lots of ‘don’t tell the doctor!’ jokes. As if it’s the doctor who gave him angina, like a fine for bad behaviour, and the doctor will take it away again if he believes Dad is being good. You can’t cheat your own heart, though. My Dad is another ferociously independent and proud type, and – ha ha – the depressingness of being vulnerable and mobility-impaired is probably what’s driving him to drink.
Item – H called me a little while ago to say he was stuck in the office sorting out a last-minute crisis and he didn’t know when he’d be home. I’m hungry. I want my dinner. I want H to cook my dinner, because, did I mention the headache and the cramps?
Item – I am a really whiny person, aren’t I? Isn’t it dreadful? Such bad attitude. Tsk.