The last 24-36 hours has been decidedly “Meh”, at best.
It all started yesterday afternoon when I fell asleep in the chair. Which is, of itself, not that unusual. But the thing was that when I awoke I felt decidedly out of sorts: lethargic, miserable (almost depressed) and ratty; generally incapable. Again nothing new there.
Because we were supposed to be visiting our friend Katy in Leicester today, things had to be done. And as it was to be an early start, an early night was desired. Which was good, ‘cos I still felt “meh” and put it down to the inevitable stress of being bright-eyed and bushy tailed long before o’God o’clock.
Signal for the phone to beep, with a text …
<flashback>
On Saturday we had been out to a local Thai restaurant with friends who had recently returned from holiday in foreign parts. Eldest child (a teenager) wasn’t there ‘cos he was ill with what sounded like ‘flu — the way one does. Anyway we went back to theirs for coffee after the meal as the youngest needed bed before an early Sunday start.
</flashback>
Anyway the upshot was that the teenager was taken to the doctor yesterday, and then to the hospital, to be diagnosed with a nasty, and rather infectious, foreign disease. Hence the text message. We didn’t at this stage know how far the infection might have spread, so I felt we should warn Katy — and she sensibly suggested we abandon our meet-up.
Well, if nothing else it’s a novel excuse!
And it seemed like a good call.
So we relaxed and drank to the teenager’s speedy recovery with a large G&T. But, unlike in days of yore, “meh”-ness was not abated by internal application of gin.
Sleep finally overcame me at about 1AM. And it stayed. And it then couldn’t find its coat to leave. I finally woke up some time after 11AM. Now not just feeling “meh” but also depressed. Bugger!
This last I do not understand; although there must be a genetic something there as my father was the same. He’d not sleep well but then be dead to the world all morning. I remember him being like this even when I was a teenager. Even on non-work days my mother would be up by about 8.30 and around 9-9.30 bring both me and my father cups of tea (in a desperate attempt to get us out of bed). I’d struggle into consciousness and descend by around 10. But not my father. He’d appear at 11, or later, with the words “It’s very odd, I found this cold cup of tea by the bed”.
My father was little better during the week. He’d normally struggle from his bed after 8AM and expect to catch the 8.33 train. (Luckily we lived 3 minutes trot from the station so he usually succeeded.) As a teenager I got so fed up with his frantic approach to mornings that, by choice, I used to get up at 7 and be out to school (just a mile away) before 8AM.
I recognise this now as all being down to depression; depression which didn’t abate as my father got older: he was no better in his 80s than in his 40s.
So anyway … after lunch today I spent and hour lying in the sun in the garden, enjoying warmth and light; and I then spent the rest of the afternoon “jellivating” — just sitting like a lump of jelly doing naff all of any use.