Why is snot?
Where does it start and why won’t it stop?
I’m sure that statement could be wrangled into a totally brilliant haiku or something, but I’m too snotty and miserable to bother. It’s been a week and that cold is still hanging around. From Friday to Tuesday I was proper, Couch and Toast ill. Now it’s just the annoying dregs that aren’t quite horrible enough to justify time off work. Today all the symptoms have rushed to my head. I’m deaf in one ear, it feels like something is about to explode. I’m also treating my colleagues to regular nose-blowing concertos. Next up: The Blue Danube. Da da da da daaaaaaaa – HONK HONK! HONK HONK!
It’s not just my body that’s hopeless right now; my brain is below par too. Please excuse this substandard excuse for a blog entry. I know there are a lot of new people swinging by here lately who are probably thinking, Who is this snotty moron and what fool gave her a book deal? I assure I do have my articulate moments. Please don’t run away! I’ll come good again soon.
An example of my braindeadedness: Mistress Anne of Elastic Waist invited me to partake in their brand new Naked segment, all about beauty and body image. On Wednesday night I spent five hours in front of the computer trying to answer those five little questions. With the way I was gurning at the screen you’d think I’d been asked to solve the third world debt or the Brittney Spears Conundrum.
It just SUCKS when you brain and body won’t do what they’re told. I think I’ve taken them both for granted lately, assuming they’ll always perform. I’m doing my best to be patient and rest, but I have to admit there’s a wee bit of panic there. How long is this going to take? I got miles to walk and emails to reply to. And still the answer seems to be: Settle, petal!
I got stuck on one Anne’s questions: When do you feel most beautiful? I don’t know if I ever feel beautiful. Maybe it’s an Australian thing, but I’d feel like a turkey even thinking that, as though a pack of high school bitches would jump out of my wardrobe and say, "You’re SO up yourself!" (oh how I miss Australian phrases like up yourself) then flush my head down the loo.
But I spose I do feel sort of mildly pretty, inside and out. The best way I can describe what I feel when I look in the mirror is like the end of the movie Babe when James Cromwell pats the wee pig on the head and says, "That’ll do pig. That’ll do."
Not that I think I look like a PIG, mind you. It’s just that I feel a quiet peace with how I look. At this very moment, with red eyes and half the skin sandpapered off my Rudolph nose, I don’t feel particularly gorgeous. But for the most part, especially with lipstick involved, I just nod and smile and think, "Yep, we’re doing alright, no worries. Let’s go out into the world!"
UPDATE: Tis Sunday morning. I started this entry on Friday but got distracted. Today the snot has subsided but the deafness has morphed into the Excruciating Ear of Doom. Now it’s ringing like I’d been to ten consecutive Iron Maiden concerts. There’s also an oceanic whooshing sound. And PAIN like you would not believe. I called NHS 24, the government’s out of hours doctor service. The nurse told me to take painkillers and call the doc tomorrow. IF my eardrum hasn’t exploded all over the house before then
At least the nurse was nice. They should rename the service to NHS Virtual Mum, because when I described my symptoms she was all, Poor hen. Ooh I know. Ooh I know dear. An ear ache is never nice. Poor thing. Now THAT is what you really want when your real mother is on the other side of the planet. That is why I pay my taxes.
What concerns me more than the pain and deafness is that I went to a Curry and SingStar Night with my work pals on Friday evening. SingStar is that Playstation game that’s like fancy lounge room karaoke. Bolstered by about half an inch of wine, I really got carried away. I belted out I Should Be So Lucky, Hungry Like The Wolf, Parklife, Tutti Frutti, I Got You Babe, I Heard A Rumour and two Franz Ferdinand songs. The combination of half-deafness and that half inch of wine made me believe I sounded fantastic. But this morning I had a tentative warble in the bathroom and realised I sound like dog turds! My voice is pissweak enough in good health but right now it is a total drone. I can’t believe I subjected my colleagues to hours of that. There’s no way in hell I was hitting any of those notes. Especially in the particularly rousing sections of Total Eclipse of the Heart. At least if this earache does me in, I’ll never have to face them again.
Just in case I’m not back in a timely manner and you are looking for a means of passing the time, here is a nice interview I did with the Irish Examiner with only one swear word – click here.