It is now almost completely dark by 5.30. This happens every year and yet it is still a surprise to me, sneaking up to slide a hand over my shoulder and shield my eyes from the sun.
With the onset of wintry weather, poor old P is lurching from bed to couch to work (if he must) to couch to bed again. I think there may be the occasional shower in his programme, but I cannot vouch for frequency, sadly. He has savoured lozenges like each suck might be the last soothing respite his throat ever experiences. Last night, he derived a great deal of entertainment from the novelty game I'd brought him: which is the better brand of aloe vera tissue? You should be aware that Kleenex carried the day - greater number of tissues per box, three ply, "squishy", plush (major negative: eyewateringly expensive.) That he spent that much time on a tissue comparison is a telling sign of ennui.
Later that night, he announced:
You know, I watched 15 episodes of tv and Skyfall at least one (possibly twice for the good bits) and I DIDN'T ENJOY MYSELF AT ALL.
I had pity for him, then he tried to bait me by uttering with some serious side-eye, as he tossed another tissue:
Do you think that if we consume more paper they'll just devote more landspace to planting trees?
My eyes almost rolled out of the back of my head and I nastily remarked something about his gunked up face.
So, I am still being worky and hitting keys at a rapid rate of knots, drafting endless task lists and achieving a good amount of fuck all. I am also busy being Nurse Florence Nightingale, a task to which I am singularly ill-suited. I feel pity for the ill, but I loathe illness in my house. I find it difficult to bear through the nose blowings and "d'y'know if we have any more Nite'n'Day?" type conversations (actually, I loathe the latter conversation irrespective of illness - "Do you know where/if we have...?" is the sentence starter that drives me out of my mind because WHAT THE FUCK AM I, SOME KIND OF HOUSEHOLD DIRECTORY? Even though part of me knows it may just be quicker for the person to ask and it doesn't cost me anything to say yes/no/in the drawer where every miscellaneous thing goes to die it still drives me bananas). I am fundamentally lazy + selfish and I wish I could find it in myself not to get so frustrated with Sick P.
Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still filling orders for tissues/ice cream/meals AND I even picked up a bag of crumpled tissues without complaint, but I'm afraid it's hard to conceal the distaste in my eyes.
I do love him, I promise.