Yes, this could be one of those rambling posts about a number of things. But I've been sat here wondering if I've got anything to blog about, and keep thinking that I haven't - whereas, surely, I have.
Plus I don't want to keep blogging about feeling a bit rubbish, health-wise - it starts to feel tedious to me to keep going on about it, so I'm sure it's not a heck of a lot of fun for anyone else. Still - while we're on the subject of me feeling a bit rubbish: yes I am feeling a bit rubbish, thanks for asking. Not in any way related to guzzling a bottle (or two) of red wine at Fire Byrd's party at the weekend, it's hardly difficult to separate the signs of the after effects of alcohol from other ailments. Though having just had a week in which I felt run down anyway, then perhaps I would have been better off sticking to a more sensible amount.
Not that I was too bad afterwards, and was fine on Monday when I was at work. But on my way home my throat suddenly became very sore, and from thereon for the rest of the evening I had a sharp headache, mainly above my right eye. Plus attendant cold symptoms which exacerbated the binge-sneezing that the suspected allergy is still troubling me with.
I seem to be spending a lot of energy feeling angry about this ongoing slight dip in my health. But I'm back at the GPs tomorrow so I hope to be able to come out of there feeling a little more constructive about my current lot (and not thinking such silly thoughts as, Physician, heal thyself? More like, GP, fob thyself off).
Anyway - enough!
I'm pleased to report that things are getting better as far as my mother's condition is concerned: I've been - and continue to be - very grateful for the messages of concern and support that have been sent my way.
Talking of alcohol (well I was earlier, tangentially), I had a recurring image in my mind today which was a very comforting one: that of being in a very cosy pub. Not a specific one, but a kind of composite of the kind of places I enjoy: a good selection of real ale, a pleasant, relaxed atmosphere, and - especially - a roaring fire. Somewhere (probably) up north.
This really is less about alcohol, and more about being somewhere away from the norm, something associated with holidays and relaxation.
Not that I'm counting the days or anything.... but I've seven working ones left until I feel like I can finally breathe out, wind down, and allow my head to fill up with thoughts of my choosing rather than those which are there to respond to the seemingly incessant demands of all the day to day stuff.
I'm avoiding the temptation to wish those seven working days away, though, as valuable and outright necessary as the ensuing time off should prove.