So, where were we? I have no idea. I was having a Pollyanna moment, and then I had to saddle up and trek round the relatives because so many of them have birthdays all at once, and I ate so much cake I think I have sugar poisoning. But as to where we’ve got to in the Grand Adventure of May versus Her Reproductive Organs, ie main point of this here blog? Eh.
At least none of the rellies had anything at all to say to me about my insides/lack of mini-me. All too preoccupied with As Mentioned Previously on this blog, weddings, other people’s new babies, Mothering Sunday (oh, I am vile. Minx had completely forgotten about it and Trouble got nothing and I quietly went into the other room and was Amused. I am asking for a smiting), divorce, and also, small children falling out of trees (no harm done, fret not), baking, lambing, making egg mayonnaise, scones, whether or not a large bottle of gin is an appropriate gift for someone getting divorced (of course it is. Stupid question), train time-tables and whether tea is an appropriate refreshment at nine o’clock in the evening (of course it is. Stupid question).
And then it was back home to the officially sanctioned mix of insomnia, anxst and caffeine abuse. Do you think these could possibly be related?
Oh, I outdid myself on Sunday night. For some reason I was freezing cold, also, it was past one in the morning, I needed the loo, and H was snoring in a kind of baritone trill most soothing to the bagpiper and most fucking annoying to all other mortals. I was mighty peeved. I gave up on harrumphing, stealing the duvet back and whacking H in the small of the back and went for a full-on flounce, complete with flicking the lights on to find the hot-water-bottle and stomping. Naturally this woke H up, hahaha, and he was querulously asking me what the matter was, did I want him to sleep in the spare room or something, and I was ignoring him, or, rather, being too tired and fractious to work out what the right words were in English if I wasn’t allowed to use ‘for fuck’s sake’ or ‘damn your pretty green eyes anyway’ or even ‘shut up’. So, very fortunately, not that I deserved it, H was on hand when I squeezed the over-full hottie too hard and poured a cascade of scalding water over my breast. I flung the offending rubber bastard to the floor (unclever, as it was full of water) and tore my tee-shirt from me, sprinting to the bathroom to splash cold water on my wounded bosom, while H patiently mopped up the spill and refilled the hot-water-bottle before retiring to the spare room for the last few rags and tatters of the night.
Why yes, it is sore, thank you for asking, but no blisters, lord be thankit.
No, I haven’t slept well since, either. I am noticeably cognitively impaired now.
And then I had a gut rebellion this morning, damn it, and ended up sitting on the bog with icy blue feet for over an hour, not daring to get off and go find my slippers. I don’t suppose I can blame that on lack of sleep, but I’d sure as hell like to. Heigh ho, at least I thought to take a book in with me.
And no, there’s no point to this post, beyond general whining, and also, I am writing this on my husband’s iPad, and it is bloody fiddly, and did I mention my higher brain functions have been destroyed by lack of sleep?