Post 370: Chocolate poisoning from Easter gifts.
It’s easy for a chocoholic like me to hoard an egg or two at this time of year but, upon opening said egg, it’s very hard not to consume all the contents as if I were a child with a hungry brother on my shoulder waiting for me to put said egg down for even a second, where he could pounce on it and scoff the lot.
Such mindfulness and jealous regard for property as a kid is hard to explain to a single child, but boy oh boy has that mentality made me feel sick today.
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The cleaner has become a part of Thursday’s make-up, and has probably helped my Darling with her chores that I can hardly help much with, but I’m certainly the biggest reason for this enterprising young man’s time here at home.
I had my crunchy nuts earlier for breakfast so I can keep out of his way. My Darling was washed up and ready to go to town with an old mate and her bestie for a chin-wag. I dare not ask, nor will I be told, what is said on these regular occasions—I’m best left in the dark.
So she was off and out the door, and I was left to climb the stairs in anticipation of dusters and floor cleaners of one kind or another, that was about to start downstairs only.
I grabbed some paper from the huge pile of shredding and started to make my own noise upstairs to compete with the weekly mayhem downstairs. I had an idea in my head to relieve the “Dad’s shed” (the little spare room) of tat with a bit of a spring clean while I was trapped upstairs.
While I waited for the poor overheated shredder to cool down, I opened the door to a cupboard full of paperwork, reams of paper and folders housing bills of yesteryear—something our paperless society is making easier on clutter-storers like me. Everything eventually will be on the ever-increasingly large cloud—no wonder the sun never shines.
Beside the filing cupboard is the chocolate storage facility—something I felt should be tidied up too. This is the cause of the uncomfortable feeling inside my greedy stomach and, using the Friday shoulder injection as an excuse, I was able to shred a few ounces of mini eggshell into my throat. That certainly didn’t help much at all but gave me a burst of energy that lasted until the cleaner had shouted up his farewells.
I could then tear myself away from my endeavours in the spare room with its sweet brown poison.
I took the pile of recycling downstairs for the recycling bin with the big bag of paper-shreds.
While I normally have a spare left hand, on the good arm, to hold the handrail (going up or down the stairs), I felt a little anxious coming down for the first time without a hand to check the downward movement. I made it down safely but I didn’t feel safe.
Leading on from that, I have increasingly felt more tired as the week (of strength) has progressed. Stairs are my weakness anyway but, with my nonchalance at the climbing of the fitness ladder this week, I’ve got to be careful. I ought to consider the stair-lift as a friend, not an enemy, and use it more often.
This last week has been a total game changer in my attitude to work and home. Yes, it’s not without its limitations, as we have noticed already, but on the whole it’s been a fantastic but unexpected experience. I still am unaware of what led to the change in me, but I love it.
It will come to an end soon, I suppose, but I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.
After getting the recycling bin topped up, I went into the bike shed briefly. First to admire and drool over my 47-year-old motorbike, now ready for the road nearly; (I forgot about the front brake), but there was a need for some sorting out of the shelving and floor space that holds stuff I don’t even know why I have them. Surely I can spring clean here too.
I did have a go and got a couple of bagfuls of trash, then returned inside for a lunch to fortify my soul. This included a cheese combo from the fridge and eggs from upstairs. Yes, I still have enough strength for getting up that flight of stairs to the room of wonderful Easter chocolate.
My Darling came back home and we sat and chatted while I unburdened my guilty conscience about the extra calories that Cadbury’s forced into me.
I seemed to have a food coma and specifically chose something with English speaking to watch on the TV. This didn’t help, as I kept dozing off.
Maybe this is the end of my extra-strong week? Who knows? At least I made the most of it while it lasted.
My Darling seemed better from what was likely a virus or tummy bug a day ago, and best of all kept it to herself (sorry Darling).
Well, I didn’t want to cancel the ultrasound-guided shoulder injection did I? That should be good for my right arm movements, if I get some physio on it to keep the good work of the injection going.
I still haven’t had my Aviva forms filled in by my GP after a week, even though they are important and lacked as such. I rang today (between naps) and got nowhere. I wonder if they’ve lost them already. Time will tell.
My little bro will come down to see me and the bike tomorrow in the late afternoon or evening, by which time I’ll have returned from the hospital. Brilliant. His girls might come down too. That always brightens up my day.
We shall have a few laughs anyway.
Till then, good night.
I wonder if I’ll get chocolate dreams?
Take care.
