sick and tired

No, this isn’t a smack-laying rant. I’m actually sick. Just sick. As a result, I am a bit tired too. It’s an interesting turn, me feeling extensively crappy, and Heidi having a rather good day. She would tell you it’s poetic justice. I say it’s just the Lord's sarcasm. Probably one in the same, really.

Our friend Annette came over to our place today to help about. That woman came in like a hurricane and then… was gone. I’m actually not really sure any of it even happened, except that our place is tidied up a bit and has a funky smell from our lame vacuum. I just kind of sat here while she was going at it all, trying to muscle a thought into my dissertation. My head feels like somebody filled it with a bucket of mud, so I didn’t get very far there.

Last week was the Lord Mayor’s procession in the city centre, which includes a carnivale, samba, food, and a big fireworks display. Just as we were getting ready to go, Heidi hit rock-bottom, so we stayed home and listened to the windows rattle instead. Apparently, our bishop was seen partying like a rock star in front of the samba at nearly half-past ten. Although, if you were to question him on it, he would just say that it was “Rubbish. Not like last year’s.” Go, Coley, go.

I am reading Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity at the moment (nabbed it for a quid at a second-hand shop) and anyone who is familiar with it will remember that the narrator, Rob, reorganises his record collection whenever things are going badly. If you want a bit of a laugh at my expense, just imagine me sitting in front of our computer trying to make an itunes playlist that will sort all of our music autobiographically… then have pity on me.
-ms