The Importance of Being Idle

Sick

Wow, been a while eh?
I was kinda getting into the swing of things wasn't I? Well, yeah, and now disaster has struck!
I've been off work for the past two weeks with what is currently being diagnosed as labrythitis, and infection of the inner ear which makes you all wobbly and funny. Except it's not funny, it's like having spent the past two weeks being horribly seasick.
It started off with me feeling a bit nauseous one night after dinner, and sorta progressed from there. At first I was diagnosed as having a general viral infection and given anti-biotics, but when the start of this week rolled around and I STILL didn't feel any better I was back at the doctors again, and that's where the labrythitis idea came in. Frankly I still feel like crap, and concentrating enough to write this while everything is swirlig gently around is making me feel quite hot and bothered. Tomorrow I'm having more tests (blood this time, you don't want to know what was tested first time) and maybe something will come of that.
All I know is that I'm sick of being sick, especially like this: I can't watch movies, or play video games or do anything very much without some repercusion (even reading is troublesome), hell I can't even stand up all that reliably! I make the occasional small trip out to the nearby shops (okay, shop) and I'm fairly sure that my unsteady gait and general pallour make everyone who sees me assume that I'm drunk at this time of the morning! I'll be glad when it's all over, I really will. I've been a grumpy patient too, and Ronnie is working extra hard having to look after me too (as well as holding down her normal four million jobs). No wonder she's tired, the poor thing.
Over the weekend I was really starting to wonder what the hell was up with me too; I was half convinced that I was subconciously making it up and half convinced that I was dying of a brain tumour; neither would've been considered a good result, so I will admit to being relieved when the doctor didn't call me a fraud and throw me out of his surgery (which was what I was expecting, pretty much).
On the plus side, Archie has been looking after me as well as he knows, and (all too) frequently brings me dragonflies to eat. Whether this is ancient cat wisdom and they would actually make me better, or whether he catches them and then they're too crunchy for someone with only four teeth I don't know, but it's nice to assume the former (whilst suspecting the latter). As long as he doesn't bring in any more live ones we're okay; they're very hard to catch, and once he's brought them inside Archie seems to consider his work done!
And erm, that's it really. At least that's all I can remember right now.
I feel weird, I need to go lie down.

posted by BadMonkey @ 2:55 PM