Sigh.

I don't make a good ill person. You know how some people are just naturally good at it, resting their angelic curls on a pillow, sleeping like a baby, smiling weakly at visitors, taking their medicine regularly?

I'm not one of those. Taking my medicine regularly, yes, mostly. Sleeping like a baby - no, unless I'm VERY ill. Smiling - being a Northerner is my excuse. And no angelic curls either.

And for the past two days I have been ill. Not terribly ill, but just ill enough to feel dizzy when I walk, with a bit of a temperature, but not ill enough to just doze off into a coma and then wake up feeling a bit better.

I have tried to read but I feel dizzy when I do. I have watched old TV series to the point of despair. I have looked at old photographs, stretched my legs, bought paracetamol and lemons. I am incredibly bored and restless and uncomfortable and have decided that I will be out of the house tomorrow no matter what.

So, as I said before, I don't play the ill role very well.

A bit over a year ago I was pretty ill for a substantial amount of time. I had a fever and tonsillitis and swallowing was very painful, so I barely ate for a few days. It was terrible. It was also a difficult time for me in other ways - you may recall from a previous post that February is the worst possible month in the year for me. And other things on top of that didn't help.

In the midst of it all, when I was unable to eat and could only sleep (and badly at that) and grumble and produce puss and snot and tears, a very special someone, despite having a bit of a hard month or so himself, came to sit on the side of my bed and spoon-fed me. He fed me some soup with such gentleness and it was one of the most beautiful, selfless and loving acts I have ever been at the receiving end of.

And tonight this grumpy, restless mess of a woman wishes that very special someone was here, so that she could tell him in person how much she loves him.