This morning I awoke feeling ill tempered, and started muttering foul expletives in the half light, having wrenched the his and hers bedside light off the headboard, as I tried to locate two alarm clocks and the correct equipment. My urgency to follow Dr BDP's morning blood pressure and temperature protocol, in the usual state of literally dying to gallop to the bog, with urgent beeping clocks, but needing to stay in bed first, in order to finish stage one. Blue Monday beckoned in all it's 'lets not have tantrums before the school bus arrives' state. My dawn huff deepened on catching sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. Having missed my trip to London to see Dithers due to collective family health problems, I have after the last reaction to a virus been left feeling weak and flabby and with this in mind I made some vile faces at myself in the mirror, the pale faced creature peering back at me made me even more annoyed.
I then progressed to over analysis of the remains of yesterday's going out to lunch hair. Having been in bed for a while, I went out with my man and the children to eat an incinerated gluten free pizza locally, which helped sharpen my fangs and was most enjoyable. To attend lunch and not look ill, (this really irritates my husband, the trying not to look ill thing), if I go to hospital or even the GP, I pile on my looking as well as possible make up, in case they want to make me stay in hospital. It has worked though, despite everything, unless with a child, not stayed in hospital over night for nearly 16 years.
Yesterday's hair had been an absolute blow drying triumph against all the odds, with various products and large vent brushes. Over night it had shaped itself into two brillo pad styled horns with knotted ends. By the time I descended the stairs to sort out breakfast fuss and hunt for strong coffee, I was vaguely snarly. Big hugs with everybody and it was all forgotten about. I soon felt pleased to be well enough to do half an hour's exercise to some Brazilian music. Progress indeed. I have had a dire reaction to my daughter's latest sore throat, I never get the throat, instead throbbing joints and sneezes at two a minute for anything up to two and a half day. Sneezes violent enough to make the cats leave home, and go banging through the cat flap not to be seen until upstairs has gone quiet again. To be back on my feet so soon is great, and also an end to an endless migraine, progress indeed. Plus despite my endless moaning I am less fat.
He has been keeping me amused with his antics, he went outside today in a large flapping, neon coloured dressing gown to let the chickens out, and got chased and pecked on the ankles. He flew back in and got busy putting endless musical instruments away. Having had three full sized drum kits out, two pianos, two electric pianos, countless other styles of percussion, hand drums and guitars - it became apparent that house viewings involving our premises were currently off. Luckily the for sale sign blew off down the road in the last gale and I have sacked the latest estate agent and will start again next week. So hopefully nobody will notice that it is for sale. The last agent to venture through the door power, dressing in a bright red suit, drumming her finger nails on my kitchen table has caused me to hyper ventilate nightly.
My time in bed passed fairly quickly, as I am research lady for homework projects and also have been feverishly writing out frightful top secret characters in case my novel could actually be a reality. However I did become very very irritated with television, that advert for 'No No' hair removing makes me very cross... how about having 'Yes Yes' and depicting people as yeti's literally delighted with how hairy they are. I have also enjoyed the live music going on in the house, lots of middle aged men all as furry as bears, playing up tempo cracking tunes from The Jungle Book appeals to me greatly, although he regularly visits me between sets, wanting to know what I am writing about. When not playing music and treble booking his clients, his procrastinatory activities of late have become hilarious. His avoidance of calling certain offices with advice on revenue caused him to wrench open a jammed shut drawer in one room, he knew precisely what was in there, as I did. A rugby ball sized tangle of endless black wires, all obsolete from various pieces of long gone recording equipment, chargers with no use whatsoever,belonging to lobbed far away telephones, broken ear phones and other such nonsense. Having wrestled it out of the drawer he then held it up and announced what a useful job it would be for him to untangle it. With him holding it up to show me how busy he was about to be, I just could not stop myself from snipping straight through the middle of it all with a large pair of scissors, job done as far as I am concerned! He was temporarily utterly dismayed by my intervention.
In the middle of last week I had my most disgusting job to do. I try and do three dreadful jobs every morning after which anything else feels great. I wondered a few nights back why both cats appeared to be running up and down the landing with hob nailed boots on making hair on end yowling noises. It became apparent a few days later that a certain frightful smell had permeated into our bedrooms and it's source needed to be found. An unmistakable dead mouse scenario. Much to my disgust it was in none of the usual places, under beds or behind pianos on the landing.. but in fact was in the airing cupboard and had disappeared down a hole with the plumbing, never to be extracted again. Many incense sticks were burned and rags containing tea tree dropped under the floor boards, it refused to be fished out and my makeshift spoon on a wire only made things much worse.
Today I rushed outside and delivered two large glasses of brandy to our new neighbours who actually appear to have a pulse each, very smiley and friendly. Perhaps I won't have the same dead of night urges I had with previous inhabitants, who felt the need to have sensor activated flood lights at a level more befitting of a sports stadium, rather than a deepest rural post code, which would go off at the dead of night when we are wallowing in the woods in our home made hot tub, surrounded by large hooting owls in the tree tops. Once when Dithers came to stay and we had had slightly too much wine in there with my man and other friends, she had to physically restrain me to prevent me doing two laps of their garden, on my bone shaker bicycle as Lady Godiva in order to trigger the frightful lights.
Today's early morning tedius job has been a joint project with him, to work out why all our lights are fusing every 15 minutes, this had been a trial and error with television, radios, musical equipment and various trip switches and the house plunged into darkness regularly for the last three nights. It it the microwave, mystery solved and it is now in disgrace on recycled chemistry stool in the middle of the kitchen. I am not allowed to kick to pieces it is still under guarantee, my job to search for the on line evidence.
I must be on the mend as the children have started telling me off again, apparently I have developed a new condition, according to my youngest teenager I have OCD on account of reminding him to go to bed on time on a school night or when course work is due in to school on a certain date.
Blue Monday - still plenty of time to live up to that!
MaryF x
Are thyroid problems hereditary?
