The bad news is, my sofa is beginning to take on a Stumbling-shaped dent, so much so that if the cat dares to jump onto it when I’m not there, she slides into the dip in the middle. Which is quite funny, if, like me, you don’t get out much.
With the steroids gone, at least I sleep through the night and no longer wake up at 2 am with a burning desire to polish the skirting boards or rearrange my herbs and spices into alphabetical order. All I’m left with now is overwhelming fatigue, but as an experienced MSer, that’s second nature. If I had to take a test on managing fatigue, I’d pass with an A plus and get a shiny sticker.
The Teenager is back from London. The washing machine is on, there’s thick clouds of Lynx in the bathroom, food is disappearing from the fridge at an alarming rate and I’m tripping over his size 12 trainers. All back to normal.
My plan for this week is a simple one. Sleep, watch telly, read and repeat. The aim is to a)recover completely and b)bore myself so silly that I’ll be ready for world domination at the end of it. Or something similar.
My sofa will be my command centre. I have my tv listings magazine, the land line, my mobile, the remote control, a selection of hand creams in case I feel like doing something energetic. A book, a pile of magazines, my duvet, the cat, a bag of sweets (or three), and a brochure for the local arts centre. I might not be able to go just yet, but I will absorb some culture by osmosis.
Choice of clothing is also very important. Nothing too tight fitting. The aim is to be comfortable, but also, when I have visitors, I want to look floaty and serene. No slippers (trip hazard and, let’s face it, a touch naff). Hair will be washed, as I don’t really want the mad woman in the attic look.
It’s a tiring business, being poorly. Actually, it could be my full time job. Well, at least for a week. After that, I will be back to my normal self. Lazing on the sofa, eating sweets, etc…..