The Thumb Chronicles continue… Master J and I are both unwell and out of sorts, but he is currently having a cuddle snooze – it’s a pleasant sort of tyranny – and I wanted to check in before you abandon me entirely to let you know the conspiring elements currently preventing me from blogging. Talk about a shit week.
For some reason, it was long before it began. I was hanging out for A’s two hours on Tuesday, until she called and cancelled. Thursday, I thought. I just have to get to Thursday. Wednesday night she called to end the entire and it must be said mostly theoretical arrangement. No problem this end, she just has to work in the shop because someone has left. I was gutted.
Or I thought I was gutted until Llew broke it to me that he’d be working every day and night of the long weekend. My interminable week stretched painfully ahead by another three days just as my throat grew sore for the second time in as many weeks, so I couldn’t even take Master J visiting. Better yet, Llew’s current work pressure has meant he’s missed the nighttime routine three nights and counting. No immediate end is in sight – no picnic for him and certainly exhausting for me. I started coughing up gigantic green globs – the type that occasion a full body shudder each time one is successfully launched off my chest and into the sink – Saturday just to complement my mood, and yesterday I lost my voice… My lifelong constitution has apparently abandoned me and left behind someone sickly instead… It all started with profound hairloss and lankness and it’s been downhill from there.
So my long week of last week has morphed into two, two more extreme weeks than usual given Llew’s office hours at present. I have a nearly-finished draft of a post about this year’s Archibald Prize and I’ll try to save enough energy today to finish it off once I’ve put Master J down tonight. I wrote it around the corner Saturday morning, in the hour and a hour I begged to myself before Llew had to get into work. I’m pretty fucked, actually, thanks to sickness and tiredness – and don’t they gang up on a girl, the bullies – but I have been dancing it out with Master J whenever I have started feeling like howling. I can recommend early Michael Jackson and the Scissor Sisters for a good old fashioned sunroom shuffle on a miserable winter’s day. Don’t blame it on the sunshine, that no good absconder. Blame it on the boogie.