Item – I’m so tired. Sorry. I am really, really tired, and I’m not even drugged up to the eyeballs and poked full of holes yet.
Item – H had a Great Big Amazing Wonderful Thing to do, so amazing and wonderful some of his family came up to watch, so there was much socialising and seeing of peeps over the weekend. Which was lovely. And then on Monday H did his Great Big Amazing Wonderful Thing (he’s so talented) and we all died of pride and then went to the pub. I got four hours sleep last night. I am so pleased for H I think I may grin myself into a spasm. I cornered a random colleague at work and God help me I boasted. And I am so tired I can barely type. Hurrah for H! wbifaq4 bv4auiniurhguvx [faceplant in keyboard].
Item – We scrubbed the damn flat top to bottom as well. I still have a floor to mop. Did I mention my mother was planning on staying the night once she and H have scooped me up from the hospital?
Item – Reasons why H is pleased my mother is staying:
- We don’t have a car. My mother does. Cars are useful for transporting The Recently Quarried home again.
- H is also exhausted, post Amazing Wonderful, and came home early today with a fever (oh, the timing), so if he’s going to be feeling like a boiled turnip, another Useful Adult about the place would be Of Use.
- Also, if I decide to go all Medical Emergency (fingers crossed, eh?) there will be a spare Useful Adult With Car available.
- If nothing else, my mother and H can play Boggle all evening while I languish.
Item – Reasons why I feel twitchy about my mother staying:
- I have to mop the bathroom floor. I know I should anyway, as it’s not a great surface for lying on in emergencies right now, unless one cares to be covered in lint and hair-balls, but I am mostly mopping it because my mother will look at it.
- The dirty laundry in the bedroom does not live in a hamper. We do not own a hamper large enough. It lives in a Matterhorn. And my mother will look at it, and there’s eff-all I can do about this, because I don’t have time now to do ALL the laundry AND mop the bathroom floor, and I’m more likely to lie on the floor than in the laundry.
- When I am feeling grim, I don’t want anyone to talk to me or even look at me much. I want people to rub my feet in total, reverential silence. My mother, bless her, talks, and doesn’t do feet.
- She will offer to clean the bathroom or do laundry or something, and I will have a nervous breakdown.
Item – I’m taking H out for dinner tomorrow, as a birthday treat. So I may well not have time to update you, Gentle Readers, before I go to hospital. Umm. Will you fret? If you think you might fret, I can emotionally blackmail H into updating you. If my mother lets him. My mother doesn’t know about this blog and I don’t want her to. Oy. Anyway. Or H can lend me his iPhone and I can say ‘im fine ‘Kthnxbai’.
Item – It’s H’s birthday tomorrow! Happy birthday, H! Have a punctured semi-conscious wife!
Item – And then there’s work. Work is being A Total Bastard. People keep putting tasks in my in-tray. I thought I’d told these People that I’m off for a week. Well, I’d told my boss, and a couple of other key colleagues, and they’ve dealt with it by adopting Extreme Stealth mode, so no one else knows and I am having about three Conversations of Awkward a day. And I am, apparently, officially covering for two other sick colleagues. Yes. I know. I, woman going into surgery, a thing I informed work about in AUGUST, have been asked to cover for two colleagues who fell sick last week. Because I’ve been at current place of employment long enough to know how to do their jobs as well as my own, you see, despite not actually being trained. The person who asked me to cover had the nerve to look surprised when I said I wasn’t available, and asked me if I couldn’t have the surgery next week instead. Um, honey, that’s not how the NHS works.
Item – Anyway, H is a God Amongst Men and I’m so very clever because I married him and get to bask in reflected glory.