I knew it was going to happen, I knew it wouldn’t be an unceasing,
blissful journey of smelling roses and smiling at the dog. So this is the bit when living in the moment
really matters, when actually you feel grim and know the tears are not that far
away.
Reasons for the bump are, I tell myself, quite simple; I’m not feeling very
well. I had an uncomfortable thought
that it was ‘build up hangover’: a
marvellously guilty invention of my own mind when I think I’ve been so bad that
my body rebels, like an alcoholic indigestion.
However, ordinarily I drink quite a lot of water, and probably less wine
that I think, so such self-flagellation is usually indicative of mental rather
than physical troubles. Nevertheless, getting
back to work today I found myself shivery, weepy and headachy, and it took enormous
effort to keep going. But keep going I
did, planning the next 6 weeks of work for my Year 12 groups. A good job to complete, but not my ‘living in
the moment’ bit. No, that was back at
the cottage, when, feeling jolly rough, I thought ‘blow it I’m going to bed’,
so at about 5pm I slipped under the duvet, trying to warm my shaking body, and
lay there. I plugged in my ipod, and
drifted off to sleep listening to a charming radio play with Anna Massey and
Imelda Staunton. Their voices soothed me
into the arms of morpheus so the plot became a bit disconnected, but no matter,
I can listen to it again
I have woken and it seems the worst of the fever has
abated. I have got through this bump
snuggled warm under my duvet, safe from the world.
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