And just like that, the week is gone. I can’t think when I’ve ever had to take a whole week off of work, unless you go back to the Great Strep Days of Sixth Grade. Granted, this was a four-day week because of the holiday, and if today had been Friday I surely would have gone in.
But now it is the weekend and I have two more days of recuperation ahead of me.
And LOTS of housecleaning to do.
The man in my life has seen fit to suspend all housecleaning responsibilities during my illness, so there is quite a bit of a backlog of scrubbing and tidying to do. Yeah, it’s pretty annoying. But perhaps I will take a walk in the beautiful sunshine before commencing to clean, as my grumpy mood might be at least partly attributable to my general lack of activity and exposure to fresh air over the last week.
The roaring headache I woke up with I can attribute to one of several things:
1. A sympathetic hangover, as said dilatory husband also saw fit to come home roaring drunk last night, reeking of cigarettes and beer, make another big mess in the kitchen by way of a very wobbly dinner of noodles, and then crash into bed, still splendidly odoriferous, mountainous, and inert.
Verdict: Not bloody likely.
2. A belated caffeine-withdrawal headache, as my stomach flu has necessitated a strict diet of lemon tea and ginger ale for six straight days now, and my body is perhaps only now realizing how bereft and alone it is without its one remaining chemical dependency (that, and the dopamine produced by continual period-drama-fueled romantic fantasizing). I am testing this theory now with my very first post-sickness cup of coffee.
Verdict: More than probable.
3. A melancholic humor produced by my own enforced inertness, lack of physical and mental exercise, and profoundly limited dietary intake. Perhaps I will need to be taken to the surgeon to be bled until the humor is released.
Verdict: An entirely sound and sensible scientific conclusion.
As regards my period drama habit, I considered it to be a distinct mark of restraint and reserve that I turned down an invitation to go see Amazing Grace last night at the movie theatre. Now only does it star Ioan Gruffudd, that sexy Welsh actor who played poor, doomed Bosinney in The Forsyte Saga, it features an untold number of other Sexy British People in Breeches ™.
This is my favorite genre since Merchant Ivory stopped making Sexy British People Being Awkward and Firmly Repressing their Feelings ™ (c.f., Howard’s End, A Room With a View, A Handful of Dust). However, my devotion to that genre began to pale a little when I realized that the entry fee was having to watch Helena Bonham-Carter walk stiffly about with the same pinched look on her face in every damn movie.
This was offset for some time by the regular appearance of Rupert Graves.
But that was then, this is now, and I refused to watch Amazing Grace in public last night, mainly due to my dislike of movie theatres and the people in them (they talk). I will happily wait until the movie is available on DVD or OnDemand, and I can watch with my own preferred comestibles at hand and rewind over all the good steamy parts.
I also had preparations to concern myself with for tonight’s festivities — in a valiant effort to provide me with at least ONE person in my social circle who has seen the damn thing, my dear friend Saucygrrl is coming over tonight to enjoy the entire run of Jane Eyre in one sitting. I just got the DVD in the mail yesterday.
So this is one more reason why I have to spend the rest of the day cleaning house — I have tawdry, shameful doings to attend to tonight. I also have to assemble appropriate kibble for such an event, consisting of any food product (save porridge) that is mentioned in the film and is reasonably amenable to modern tastes.
Including but not limited to:
- des bon bons
- des amandes
- lots of tea
I do believe this will call for more coffee. Woo! Lots more coffee!