The story my bedside table tells
I have spent quite a lot of time in bed over the past few days struggling with a migraine. These have become a more regular fixture in my life over the last couple of years. Frustrating because they totally put me out of action for at least a day and then I wander around with Fuzzy Head (technical term) for a few more days after that. Partly stress, partly hormonal, partly genetic 'gift' from my maternal side (love you Mum).
Anyway, I looked over at my bedside table and saw my drugs, DVDs and books that have been my friends over the last few days. I think I still have some real life human friends out there too. But sadly there isn't much left for all that, what with juggling all the mother guilt and Fuzzies (more medical technicalities, my apologies).
Have been looking forward to this stage of life for years. Older, more independent kids. Older, more independent me. Now I just keep getting sick and feel weak and pathetic. Am I going to be a gracious and patient old person? I'm starting to wonder how one does that.