I’m nearly better, though measuring your own progress is far from an exact science. I was re-reading my old diary (from 2006) and trying to figure out if I was happier then or if I’m happier now – and I think the answer is, both. I was happier then in the sense that I had work and money; we were involved with the children and had frequent holidays. On the other hand the diary is full of my frustrations: people I disliked and didn’t know how to deal with; continual demands on me from work and children – and above all a total lack of time to write, which resulted in mental chaos. My mind felt completely cluttered; and whilst I don’t have any of the external trappings I had then, what I do have is a large measure of mental clarity and plenty of time to write. If I don’t write I get mental constipation: thoughts build up and up and are never released, like one of those progress bars which never quite gets to the end – or if it does, just starts all over again. They ought to call them Sisyphus bars because they never get to the end…
Getting better is like returning to normal from Douglas Adams’ Total Perspective Vortex: ‘we have normality. I repeat, we have normality. Anything else is therefore your own problem.’
I have to figure out which symptoms were due to the TVP – aka chest infection – (eg tiredness, depression) and which are now my own problem. Of course in a wider sense everything is my own problem, but it’s good to know which are caused by a bug and which aren’t. Though I suspect it may not be that simple. After all, why do we get bugs in the first place?
Now there’s a question with a never-ending answer.
I’m trying to think of unusual words for what is coming out of my lungs at the moment, and ‘slurry’ seems like a good one. Yes, I know from my ‘Archers’ listening that it means muck, but it sounds right and it looks like something slurred. OH has also suggested ‘slurt’ but I’m not so keen on that as it sounds like a collapsed yurt.
Or maybe it’s a liturgy? You know, a lurgy with a great big IT in the middle. Anyway, somehow I feel that coming up with funny names for it helps me to feel better – like when people name their tumours. In the latest Rebus book, the detective has a shadow on his lung which he nicknames ‘Hank Marvin’ and which eventually turns out to be benign. I’m fairly certain I have a chest infection and not a shadow on the lung but we’ll know more when I see the doc tomorrow – always assuming I can get an appointment…
In the meantime I’ve not been up to doing much except watching TV. I’ve checked out some videos of ‘Rex the Runt’ (a wobbly bobbly dribbly squiggly dog)
followed by the film ‘Eddie the Eagle.’ This is a great thing to watch if you’re ill: the uplifting, soaring, swooping, yearning, stretching tale of a no-hoper who went on to be an Olympic ski-jumper and the British record holder is highly inspiring and altogether in the traditional British spirit of cobbling things together on a shoestring and coming last. It’s the perfect antidote to the relentlessly pervasive culture of competition which confronts us at every turn.
See you on the other side folks.
OK listen up – you’d better read this quick ‘cos I’m typing fast before the video disappears. For some reason it is getting increasingly hard to find the clip of Rowan Williams taking the piss out of the Archbish of Cant. on Comic Relief. Here’s the only clip I could find, so watch it now before some numpty deletes it:
Apparently lots of people have been offended by this and the BBC has caved in to complaints and deleted it from the iplayer. Now, hang on a minute! I know the clip contains the word ‘shag’ and it’s not exactly affectionate towards the Archbish, but to react like that is not very Church-of-Englandy is it? I mean, you expect outrage from the Catholic Church or from the Mormons or from the Westboro Baptist Church – but the C of E? Surely the usual form is to give a weak laugh and say, ‘Oh, I don’t like it personally but I’m sure some people will find it funny,’ or some such pronouncement. Yes, I know it’s a little lame but I kinda like it. I don’t think the Beeb should have caved quite so quickly but whether people were right to be offended I can’t tell, since all that’s available is a part of the monologue and I would quite like to make my own mind up, please.
If anyone has a better link please post it in a comment.
In other news, I am now on a cocktail of drugs. Much to my disgust I have had to cave in and visit the doc, who, having measured my peak flow, promptly prescribed a mix of steroids and asteroids – no, wait – steroids and antibiotics – and told me to call 999 if I couldn’t finish a sentence. I may have a problem unless someone can finish this sentence for me…
‘The BBC have deleted Rowan Atkinson’s skit on the Archbishop of Canterbury because…’
Quick! My hand is already picking up the receiver!