Hungover porridge

That’s how grim life feels this morning, the closest I can get to describing the lethargy, a combination of the worst hangover you’ve ever had (I’m not even drinking any more with all the medication) while wading neck deep through cold porridge. Yes that good.

Breakfast helps as does the prospect of a friend coming over for lunch (which thankfully I cooked last night). Things take a turn for the worse during my shower, when the boiler has one of its turns, I’m half way through, covered in soap. Water suddenly runs freezing cold. I have to sit to shower these days and the thought of getting out and slipping on the bathroom floor is scary. But the only other option is a cold shower. Perilous journey to boiler, some choice swear words, a few knocks and whistles and it’s working again.

I trust the day will improve as it goes on and at some point today I’ll feel semi-human.  I had plans for today, nothing too extravagant, maybe a trip to the gym after all this  time, as I’m fast losing any semblance of fitness. But today is a one foot in front of the other sort of day. One step forward, three steps back.

Can we just fast forward to tomorrow please?


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