A jigsaw!
Not even a good one at that! In 4 years, have you ever seen me do a jigsaw? Well I hadn’t seen you do a crossword until 6 weeks ago. I have always done crosswords. They involve brain power and learning new facts. Seriously a jigsaw of a random city. DUMPED.
The last 2 weeks have been goddam awful. Last week I was told off by the GP for doing too much. She gave me an anxiety inducing lecture. I drowned my sorrows by drinking a bottle of wine in 20 minutes on a Tuesday early evening. Unfortunately this 20 minute stress release resulted in crippling anxiety the next day. Prolapse! Please can no one ever say that word to a hypochondriac again.
It was half term. I had fallen out with dickhead ex (I am not a Dad on Mondays) over childcare arrangements to suit the Guncles visiting from London. A visit from the Guncles involves much anticipation and over indulgent excitement like afternoon teas! Every kid needs a Guncle. Full of energy and with spare cash as they don’t have children. Sadly, the Guncles had whatsapped me the previous Tuesday to tell me they were too stressed to come – what is it with Tuesdays?
Anyway I was left with disappointed kids still unable to drive and according to the horrid doctor, unable to walk. Luckily Mary Poppins came to stay. My wonderful friend who you will remember cleaned up my eldest’s vomit a few weeks ago. This time she made a platter of choclatey naughtiness clearing my kitchen cupboards of crap in the meantime. Thank you. You angel.
Reached my magic 6 week marker. Spoke to a physio who told me again to do nothing until my pain settles. She suggested walking for 10 minutes a day. Totally devastating news for someone who pre op only didn’t walk for 10 minutes a day. The disappointment is huge.
Meanwhile my parents “decided” to come and fix a large mirror they didn’t want above their dining table, above my dining table. When I heard the sound of a drill I knew it could only end badly. I wasn’t aware my 70 year old dad owned a drill and had certainly never seen him use one. No, he was the breadwinner and in traditional form never did anything around the house. He now does the washing and moans about the house being like a chinese laundry – Dad! You can’t say thaf! I digress again.
I venture downstairs after finishing a work call. Back to lockdown habits of dressing in smart tops and tracksuit bottoms. I discover my dad sat with his head in his hands and my mum nervously laughing. “Sorry we have broken the mirror and put 4 big holes in your wall”. The only salvegable part of this unfortunate degrading of my dining room wall was blog material, only I was too fed up to write it.
My parents tried to compensate by bringing me out of date food and dying flowers from the Food Bank. My dad was a lawyer. My mum is still a teacher. The food bank is a story for another day…
As D-Ream said in the 90s, things can surely only get better..