November 14, 2007

So here I am. Day 2 of being particularly ill and I’ve actually had to phone in sick officially. Usually my work is pretty flexible. I work part-time and often from home, so, if I’m ill at the beginning of a week I can call the day a natural day off and decide I’ll work from, say – Wednesday – when I hope to be better. In practice what happens is on Monday and Tuesday I end up doing loads of work related stuff, from bed, then on Wednesday when I’m still ill, decide I have to ring in sick.

That’s what’s happened this week, and I guess, in reality that means I’ve already worked two days and only need to work another half day, before negating any need to ring in…but it feels weird doing that. Surely, however much work you get done whlst in bed, the fact remains, you’re still in bed…

So, here I am, sitting on the sofa, folded up in an enormous purple blanket, feeling rather Eskimo like, and wondering whether it’s time for the next dose of painkiller.

Damien left for the library about an hour ago. Seeing him go reminded me of how much I love him. Yes I know, you can sense it too, I’m about to become really gooey, but it’s true. He went part time at work recently, so now he can spend half his week living the life of a writer. It makes him so happy, and I love to see him happy and the complex knot of emotions, accompanying that feeling, remind me of how deep it is.

Mind you, me being stuck inside purple blanket, waving him off to a day at the library, does feel like a bit of a slant ways take on the 50s ideal. Apart from the fact that I don’t intend to do any washing up, and he’s most likely off to write a dark and twisted story of deviance-rather than doing some wholesome day at the office. That’s my honey.

There’s something of the working girl in reverse here too. You know, the end scene where Harrison Ford makes Melanie Griffith her lunch and off she goes with it, leaving him at home. Well, shortly before he left, I was stood in the kitchen (at this point merely thinking of purple blanket, and plotting ways I’d later deploy it in feeling truly sorry for myself) watching him make his own plastic boxed lunch. I was like Harrison Ford, only I didn’t make the lunch.

I’m rambling. I know. But what to do next? I’ve got the whole afternoon ahead of me. Just me, purple blanket, fairy lights and the strong feeling that I should be doing something productive, to crush.

I’ll let you know how it goes…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: