Pathetic

I feel pathetic. I am the real weak and feeble archetype right now. I look like Rudolph, and sound like someone with consumption. Voice thready and a croaky whisper. Just charming. I was up at some unearthly hour to take Louise and James to Rugby to catch their train to Glasgow en route to Jura, and then did the food shop with Mum. The highlight of the day was coffee at Waitrose. That was it. I was ready for bed. I had to go in to the hospital to collect some notes this afternoon, and of course, it was in the middle of monsoon like rain. What else. Naturally, it got worse as I reached the point of no return, midway between the car and the building. I was a drowned rat. I do believe my skirt was transparent at this point, but I really could not have cared.

I had a text from someone saying that they hoped things were looking up for me. A kind sentiment, but rotten timing. I decided that silence was a better option than the screech I was tempted to send in reply. I have not found a job yet, I have not won the lotto, I am as sick as a parrot, I could pass exams to become a consultant in cardiogenic pulmonory oedema, my house is a tip, my mother is sick too, and my son needs a lift home at 10pm, when all I want to do is crawl into bed. I need to put an exhaust bandage on one of the cars, and the allotment needs serious work. Paperwork is still a mountain to plow through, and there is the inquest sometime in the future to look forward to. Shall I go on???Looking up??????????????????? Hah. I wish. If you are the person who sent the text, then this is really not personal, it is just reality this minute, right now. I am sure I will be rational after some sleep. And back on my quest to be nice. Having a cold clearly turns me into a fishwife. (That is such a nice old description, fishwife.) And screeching is good in cyberspace, because no-one can hear.