New Year’s Eve. Let me tell the rosary of lessons unlearnt, of repeated mistakes, the ambitions unachieved. What didn’t get done in 2010? And what will I promise, but fail to deliver during 2011?
New Year’s Eve is always presented as full of hope. We make plans and resolutions. I will lose weight (for the last time) if I follow the right dietary plan and get down to that gym. I will finish the WIP, find an agent, become a performance story teller. I will be kinder to those around me. Didn’t I say all that last year?
I finished the work in progress, at least, and started the next one.
Why this vehement misery?
Flu. My household has been struggling with flu and colds since 5 December. We drugged the bugs into submission enough for my mother’s birthday the week before, and for about 48 hours over Xmas itself. Otherwise, one or both of us has been sniffling, snorting, whimpering and dribbling for the last three weeks. I am fed up with the general disgustingness of it all, not to mention the pain of sinusitis and associated toothache.
The reports seem to suggest that, so far, there’s no more seasonal flu than normal, but it’s come a bit early (mid-December rather than January). Here, on dirt-bound vessel Sarah, it’s the worst outbreak ever. Never mind all those vulnerable elderly people and babies. What about otherwise healthy middle-aged women, that’s who I’m worried about.
Do I feel better for this rant? Not much. Time for another strepsil.