It’s alright, guys. I’m still alive.
Alright, so maybe me missing three days of blogging isn’t really a reason for you to worry, but it was weird for me. I’ve spent the past few days dead to the world in different places around the flat. Fun!
My immune system isn’t great, in that if there is a cold or anything going around, I will catch it. But generally, what renders other people unable to function acts as a mere inconvenience to me. You’re sick in bed? I’m 5 minutes late for my tutorial. You have a migraine? I have a slight headache that will go away with some paracetamol. I don’t know if I just don’t get as sick as most people or if I’ve just been raised to ignore that sort of thing, but either way it works out pretty well for me.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I suddenly became bedridden-sick for the first time in maybe 10 years. I couldn’t stand without getting dizzy and toppling over, so I spent most of Monday crawling to and from the bathroom to avoid falling and hitting my head. Bizarre. I finally managed to get vertical at about 5 in the evening, and proceeded to go to sleep on the sofas in the kitchen, at the table, and in my bed (again). I even dozed for a while in Curtis’s room when I was invited in to see his new clothes (don’t worry, I warned him in advance that I seemed to have caught the plague).
I’m over the worst of it now and able to go back to work, though I’m pretty sure that my blood is currently about 50% paracetamol. So you can expect daily blogs once again, as of today (hopefully). I’m also going to blog normally along with the NaPoWriMo poems, as I far prefer writing blog posts to poems (I’m no poet).
NaPoWriMo: Generic Poem (Number 86).
Although my blood ran cold,
I could see the light at the end of the tunnel
As I forged my poetic licence.
After all, beggars can’t be choosers.
At the drop of a hat,
I realised that this was a piece of cake:
There’s no time like the present
To cut to the chase.
I bend over backwards
Only to find that I’m barking up the wrong tree
So I find myself between a rock and a hard place
Crying over spilt milk.
I must bite my tongue
Or I might bite off more than I can chew.
And even though it’s just a taste of my own medicine,
I’ll end up with a chip on my shoulder.
Once in a blue moon
(but only when I spy pigs flying past my window)
I wait until it’s raining cats and dogs,
Then add fuel to the fire.
I like to put all my eggs in one basket
Then count my chickens before they hatch,
But I always end up going back to the drawing board.
This is the straw that broke the camel’s back.