Another day

Today, dear readers, is another day.

It is not necessarily a better day. But it is different than yesterday.

Let us think about the positives:

I have been to the physio (thank you Luisa) who has complimented me on the ‘crunchy’ nature of my neck and shoulders. This is better than last week when I felt rather like Atlas, but in a bad way.

I have had a pilates session (yesterday afternoon), in which I did not die, but during which time I felt like a geriatric, and my teacher, the lovely Rosella, said she was surprised at how much I was shaking. I was not surprised. I am surprised I did not shake to death on the spot. Today I feel like my hips have been hammered gently in the night by agitated woodpeckers.

That I have managed both these events is a good thing, as it means that I am back to caring a tiny bit about preserving my body for posterity, rather than thinking ‘what’s the fucking point, I’m going to die anyway.’ So, go me, a smiley face, and gold stars all round.

I have eaten Tyrrells’, Lobster, chilli and garlic crisps. I do not like crisps, but I was intrigued as to what they would actually taste like. I am not sure that they do taste of anything they say they do, but they were weirdly moreish, and now I feel slightly sick, my salt levels are through the roof and I have probably undone all the good things the pilates and physio did for me. There is something sadly awry with my palate at the moment as I do not like McDonalds either, but still managed to eat a large Big Mac meal at the weekend, out of choice. I hope I am not pregnant. Gawdelpus. I approve of the fact that I gave in to temptation though.

My friend Claire sent a picture of Tom Hiddlestone wearing no pants and a very sheer nightie to my Pinterest account, which cheered up my day no end. Almost as much as the Benedict Cumberbatch photobombing U2 picture someone sent me yesterday.

I slept. I did not dream of survivalist skills or apocalyptic happenings, which I have, unsurprisingly, been dreaming about for weeks. I just slept.

I was instructed by Jason to go and buy garden furniture today. I had to take my dad along with me to get the pensioner discount (thank you, dad). I bought the furniture. It went smoothly. I got the pensioner discount. It will arrive in two to three weeks. My garden continues to be awesome. The way I look at the moment, I think I could have got the pensioner discount without dad.

It is pancake day. I am going to eat many pancakes with maple syrup as soon as I have finished burping up the remains of my Tyrrells’ crisps.

I have lit the fire for my mum for when she gets home from school with the children. It has stayed alight. I have not burned down the house.

My husband is safe in Germany. I have spoken to him three times. We have Face Timed. I hate Face Timing people. I don’t mind seeing other people’s faces, I don’t like seeing my own. I have agreed to it because he likes this form of communication. He says it makes him happy. I am ok with that. I am, however, very glad I am going to the hairdresser tomorrow. I look more like Bernard from Black Books than ever at the moment.

The negatives:

I feel like Bernard from Black Books.

The headache I had for four days which dissipated on Sunday and Monday, has now returned.

My internet died last night. It only did it to spite me because Jason has gone away. I tried everything I could think of, which basically involved me turning all internet savvy appliances on and off. I texted Andrea and asked her if I should turn the routers on and off. She said yes. I then managed to find the routers, identify them as routers, and then turn them on and off. I was amazed that a) I knew I was supposed to do this and Andrea agreed, b) I knew where to find them and c) I knew how to turn them on and off without blowing up the house. Sadly, it did not work. I decided to ignore everything and go to bed in the hope that by the time I got up in the morning it would have magically fixed itself. It hadn’t.

This morning I had to call Jason and ask him what to do. He showed me arcane techniques for finding stuff out. It turned out it was to do with our internet provider. I needed to call them to find out it if it was just us, or everyone. This took blinking ages, as the paperwork with the account number and landline on had been hidden. Not in one of the three filing cabinets. No. That would be stupid. It turned out to be under a wicker basket at the back of the office on a shelf I usually only put random crap on. I dug it out. I called up. I did all the pressing this and holding that and quoting my serial number etc. It turns out it is them, not us. It should be fixed by the time I get home tonight. I hope so.

After a morning spent on the phone and up to my neck in wires and pin numbers I had to get to school.

Half way there, the road was closed off by the police. I needed to take a back route. I congratulated myself that I actually knew a back route and set off. Firstly I nearly drownded down a country lane that was flooded. The car hissed and whined and fizzed and steamed, but we made it. Then we got stuck in a stupid village with the narrowest roads where all the cars in the world were coming the other way and wouldn’t give in, even though it was my right of way. I ended up in someone’s drive, as there were cars double parked all the way down where I might have been able to seek refuge ordinarily. Then I couldn’t get out of the drive because it was blocked by a large lorry which meant I couldn’t see what was coming. What was coming were all the rest of the cars in the world. Eventually a passer by took pity on me, and stood in the road until I could get out the drive. I still couldn’t get down the road I wanted because it was now blocked by a passer by and some cars from Jupiter, so I had to take another back way which necessitated me going back on myself, and then sideways, and then having to avoid a bit of road that has a ford on it, and then finally getting where I needed to be an hour after setting out. My journey usually takes thirty minutes.

I was quite worn out by the time I got the children to school.

I am quite bored of the aftertaste of the crisps now. I feel though, that they are not for turning, and may be with me for quite some time. I am hoping that maple syrup sees them off, but I am worrying about whether maple and lobster really go. I suspect not, despite what Canadians of my acquaintance might say.

My husband is in Germany.

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