I’m still ill. So taking the day off work was a good idea.
I’m on the couch, pathetically trying not to fall asleep or admit to wanting a nap. Or I’m lying on the couch pathetically wanting to go to sleep but being unable to. Carole is running around doing everything – she’s making tea, in amongst being furious at me for ordering the wrong type of thyme, doing ironing, washing, sorting out her stuff for being back at work tomorrow. And going for a walk because of Red January.
I’m groaning occasionally.
I am also just crying at random.
Not actual crying, but my eyes are watering a lot.
We watched one of the Royal Institution Christmas Lectures this afternoon and there were tears streaming down my cheeks as though I was swept up in the beauty of the maths, or the love for my favourite red-haired mathematician.
But then the same during an episode of Lewis we ended up watching for what felt like fifteen hours – tears flowing down my face for no reason, and certainly not for the most immobile couple of pensioners ever to grace an series of adverts, or the disease-ridden donkeys.
If anything it was tears because Carole homed in on one bit of the maths lectures, from a sports psychologist who was saying you can increase your luck by engaging in positive thinking and mindfulness and all the other eyerolling happy-clappy stuff Carole thrives on. Maybe it was real tears because I hoped that she’d missed it. That she’s not heard him say all those words, despite my best efforts to cough or moan through them. But she had. And for me, the tears fell.
I mean, I could try and apply it to board games. Improve my luck with positive thinking as well as with my obvious skills. I am going to win. I will win. I can visualise me winning.
It doesn’t really sound like me, though, does it.
Now maybe these are real tears after all…
No, they’re not. My eyes are just very sore.