I have a cold.
Normally, I can soldier on through them, but today I feel like the proverbial baby-grand has landed on my back, my nose seems to be continually leaking, my eyes are itchy, my throat is red-raw, my temperature shoots upwards as soon as the advil wears off, and my energy is low.
So low, that I had to have a little sit-down on the floor of the supermarket just now because I got a little bit light-headed in the frozen foods aisle (a few lollies and a drink of water later and I was OK).
I probably shouldn’t have left the house, but my need for advil and and a few groceries was great and I was functioning thanks to Mr Codral’s cold and flu medication when I decided to go on my food foraging expedition. …and at least tonight the children can make themselves toast for dinner and leave me in peace in my tissue-filled bed.
….and it is days like this when I seem to miss you more than ever.
I want you here to make the dinner and supervise the children. To bring me a hot lemon tea and to rub my back. To run to the store to get milk and bread and the all-important advil that is currently keeping my temperature down to a balmy 37°C. I want you here so that I can be a bit of a sooky-lala and have someone take care of ME for a change (the kids do try, but its not quite the same).
But you are not here, and I am having a little sad. A bit of a pity-party for one. A bit of a ‘woe-is me’, and ‘why is my life so hard’ day. (It may also be a delayed reaction to our 15th wedding anniversary being last week when I deliberately didn’t let myself crack the sads – just goes to show that grief will out itself if you try to ignore it.) I don’t throw these little soirees for myself very often these days, but when I do, I throw a good one.
But even while I cry and mope and generally feel sorry for myself, I know that I will be OK.
Maybe not today, but tomorrow is another day.
Tomorrow I will be awesome again.
I miss you,
I love you