My cold is reaching either its zenith or its nadir, I cannot figure out which one it is. Whatever it is involves my nose being red and raw, despite the fervent purchase of four tonnes of Kleenex Balsam and a lot of tender honking. Now, when I am forced to blow it I not only have to make asthmatic whale noises through my mouth due to blockages, I also emit strange wheezing ouch noises due to the fact it fucking hurts.
These make a nice counterpoint to the noise of me tossing and turning at night, as one nostril fills with snot while the other drains noisily, in the manner of a hideously unattractive egg timer. No wonder my dreams are fraught with peril. I suspect the bruise on my leg is where my husband is repeatedly forced to kick me in the night due to the fact that I am louder when asleep than I am when awake.
Then there are the accompanying breakouts of randomised blemishes that show my skin is militantly coming out in favour of my inflamed mucus membranes, and the splits on my lips where my mouth has been desiccated by the ravening onslaught of the cold germs. My voice is at the Meatloaf stage, without the skill at singing, and my glands resemble small, Frankenstinian bolts in the side of my neck.
I have also put on five pounds since my fasting/exercise kick of the early summer. I would like to tell you that I am about to leap back into the fasting saddle, but this is not true. My cold is leaving me permanently starving, and feeling too ill to do any exercise. Sitting in front of a computer throwing words into my book is also making me hungry. I eat about a calorie for every word I write. This is on top of my already packed daily diet of biscuits and potatoes washed down with bread and butter. I might as well just have a lard based drip fitted and have done with it.
I have a week of Tallulah’s plays to get through, followed by Oscar’s birthday and a half term holiday near one of the best baker’s in the world. I am not going to find the way, the truth and the light just yet. Especially the light. Mostly I am all about the heavy.
I will deal with it later.
In the meantime just know that I am a thing of beauty and a joy forever.
Good news though:
I have had my hair cut and coloured. I have been sporting a badger stripe of roots since the end of July. The relief at finally finding the time and money to sort this out is palpable and goes a long way towards me not just giving up and going out with a large bag on my head at the moment. Or not going out at all.
Other good news, which is much more exciting is that I have managed to purchase tickets to see Daniel Kitson doing a trilogy of plays in November. Let joy be unconfined. This is truly stupendous and was worth the twenty minute wait on the phone this morning.
Further good news. I got the Boden sandals I had been eyeing up all summer and telling myself I could not justify spending £70 on for £20 in the sale, with free postage. I shall put them away until the clement weather returns and wear them jauntily and full of pride at what a massive bargain they were. As I do not follow fashion in any way shape or form I shall not care one iota that they are so last year. I am so 1978, so we will work well together.
I have also finished reading Allie Brosh’s superb book Hyperbole and a Half. It made me howl with laughter. It is superb. I highly recommend it. I am now reading Mariana by Monica Dickens. This too is wonderful, albeit in a different way.
The word count of the dratted book rises daily, despite the thick headed incompetence that the cold drags with it. Progress is being made.