Yesterday was not a success.
It was one of those days where, if there had been any justice in the world, I would have been carried back to bed by kindly servants who would have helped me cocoon myself against the evils of life before retiring to the background where they would have unobtrusively started dusting knick knacks and alphabetising my knicker drawer.
Instead I watched as the cat vomited while I was struggling into my coat, delegated cleaning the pool of cat sick up to Tilly as I hurtled out the door in the pouring rain yesterday morning, and proceeded to have a day which consisted of one mildly disastrous event followed by another.
The saving grace was my brother and parents rescuing me and taking me out for lunch after the two things I specifically went into work for yesterday were both messily cancelled in such a manner as to make me want to stab things with forks and howl.
Days like those, when the overwhelming drudgery and ultimate futility of life beat against my chest like a large bird in a small cage make me really edgy. Everything is too raw as I bang against the confines of my own life and ability.
Luckily I have a rather lovely husband who took one look at me when he got home last night, filled me a hot water bottle, and sent me to bed. He heroically cooked the children’s tea, despite having had quite a day himself. I LOBE HIM.
This morning, nothing is different, except me, and that makes all the difference.
I am less frantic. Less prone to batter myself against the ropes. More quiet on the inside. (Never on the outside).
I am taking myself off today to have lunch with a friend and enjoy the quiet pleasures of life without tearing chunks out of myself in the process.