Sick

I woke up this morning, about 06:30, when the radio-alarm clock launched James Naughtie into our bedroom. I felt like I'd only just got off to sleep and was somewhat annoyed. Ian was laying close with his back to me, my arm draped over him. I believe this is called spooning. He was warm and soft. I knew he'd turn the radio off very soon and that would mean he'd get up. It indeed did happen. All of this, I suppose, happened in just a few seconds, but on waking, seconds sometimes feel like hours. This is good when you're feeling funky, but this morning, dear reader, I was not.

I've been poorly for an absolute age, since Christmas, I suppose, and am getting a bit sick of it, now. Still, my throat is somewhat better this morning. Sadly, throat is replaced by bottom - I've got the shits.

Before leaving for work, Ian brought me a glass of apple juice and some pain killers. I popped the pills and drank down the juice. They soon kicked in. But I was restless. I couldn't get comfortable in bed, so went downstairs to watch the telly.

After ten minutes of morning trash, fatigue seemed to overtake me. Laying on the sofa, I felt myself drifting off to sleep. No good! I knew I shouldn't be sleeping. Sleeping in the day makes for an unpredicatble night. I went upstairs, took a picture of the snow, uploaded it to my blog, answered some emails, took a book from my chest of drawers and read a few pages. Discomfort. Short attention span. Put book down.

I'm still in my pyjamas and goonie, dear reader. Ian took the dogs for a quick trot this morning, but that's all the walking they've done today. I feel terrible about this, but there's not much I can do about it. I'm so tired. Lacklustre is my word of the day.

The poor dogs. They still need to do a yellow and/or brown! All I could do was to let them out into the front garden. And I've taken pictures to prove that they've made toilet.

The snow is turning to slush now. I think it will melt within twenty four hours. Such a shame. But perhaps better that way than snow that lasts for weeks and weeks. It turns a horrid, dirty colour. It gets compacted. It turns to ice. Ice is only good in a gin and tonic. It's not good on the ground.

I may well sleep this afternoon (knowing full-well that I'll be paying the price tonight). I've only got apple juice and a custard slice in my belly to sustain me. I'm fading, now.

And there's not much going on this afternoon to keep me interested. Though this evening, there's Celebrity Big Brother to look forward to. I say look forward with a sense of S&M. I've grown to like watching CBB in the same way that I like to watch horror movies. Jade Goodey is both scary and horrific. The Lost Boy has some interesting thoughts on that particular programme. Click here to read them. As does China Blue. Read her musings on that particular shower of cunts here.

Enjoy.

Curious. Although CBB is full of the most vile and stupid creatures on earth, people love watching it and love talking about it. I'd like to know why. Do you know why, dear reader? If you do, please tell me.