Why are Mondays so hard? Wake up feeling a fog of yuk with various aches and pains. I’ve a meeting at 12 and at 9 am that feels impossible. Rouse myself, navigate the gloop to breakfast and medication, back to bed for an hour of quiet whining. Or not so quiet as the workmen are about painting the outside of the building, so there’s a man sanding my window two feet away (curtain closed, don’t want to give the poor man a heart attack, I’m not a sight to be seen first thing).
I have a praetorian guard these days since an episode earlier in the year when I was found unconscious by the lovely boys in blue. Four friends take it in turns each week. I have to text them by 12 or the SAS get called. Text this week’s guard.
Promise of coffee gets me out of bed again for shower and painkillers which kick in twenty minutes later. It takes a good two hours for me to feel something resembling human.
Tidy up a bit and look at my emails. My lovely guard has sent me a pic of a cat in uniform reporting for duty and it makes me laugh. The water just got a little warmer.