This week has been better than the two weeks that preceded it. I’ve done more work, which was fun, and read fewer books but done a lot of sleeping. I’ve also watched every episode of Would I Lie To You? David Mitchell is fantastic. So angry! So sarcastic! SO DAMN RELATABLE.
I have spent the past week stuck in a hellish circle so ridiculous that I ended up having to laugh at it.
(If you are squeamish, especially about menstruation, this is your warning that you may not enjoy this post.)
The ways in which people interpret the world have always amazed and intrigued me. How two people can look at the same situation, be armed with the same knowledge about it, and yet still come out with different conclusions (aka ‘politics’). How two people can have a very similar experience and yet react in wildly different ways. How something that can floor one person won’t bother another.
But even more subtly: how the individual ways in which we think about the world – our personal hermeneutics – help us to see things through a unique lens.
Without wanting to sound too morose about it, this week was shit and I have nothing much to report. I was very ill and I spent most of it either in bed or in the bath. However, in the interests of making sure you all know I’m still alive, and of keeping people updated so they don’t inundate me with messages asking how I am, I will write a short post anyway.
On Thursday I spent a record 15 hours in the bath, 12 of them in one straight run. About once every two hours I’d get out, drain the water and run a new one. I’ve now used up my annual allowance of water, I think.
I was finally feeling more alive again this week, having essentially spent three weeks asleep. I caught up on a bit of work, and read some stuff, and watched some stuff, and generally had a fairly relaxed time.
Well, apart from nearly making a chemical weapon in my bathtub when a giant spider appeared in it. That wasn’t so relaxing. (There are no pictures of spiders in that post. Or this one.)
It was an accident, before I get put on some sort of watch list. And it was all a spider’s fault.
(There are no pictures of spiders in this post, I am not a monster.)
My hatred for spiders is legendary. Once, at about three o’clock in the morning, having been standing on my sofa unable to get off for several hours because a big hairy one was running around on the living room floor, I called an emergency locksmith to come and get rid of it for me.
“You’ll have to break into my house,” I told the bemused person on the phone, “because I can’t get off the sofa. Then you’ll have to kill a spider for me. Can you get someone to do that?” They sent a very pleasant Romanian man who told me horror stories about the size of the spiders in his home country, and who seemed to think the giant beast in my flat was fairly cute.
As we all know, I’ve been stumbling through life a bit pathetically over the past few months, after my internal organs started trying to kill me. They probably won’t succeed, because they haven’t succeeded any other time they’ve tried and because I’m getting treatment, but in the meantime I’m pretty much housebound, except for occasional trips to the supermarket at the end of the road on days when I have enough energy to walk there.
Yesterday was one of those days (yay!) and I went to buy some washing up sponges and some pears. Now that I can sometimes eat successfully, I am experimenting with different foods. So far most non-citrus fruits seem to be OK most of the time (double yay).
On my way there I bumped into a friend whom I haven’t seen since just before I got ill. We had a brief conversation, then he went on his way, I did my shopping and came home. On the way back I realised that his reaction has been a textbook example of the best way to act when someone you know is seriously ill. I know it’s a subject that’s understandably difficult for a lot of people – what should I say? when should I say it? is it OK to ask stuff? – so I thought I’d use him as an example and write a post about it.