Yo. It’s Sunday morning, I’ve thrown open my window and can hear the contented twitterings of various garden birds, floating into my bedroom.* The smoky haze clouding the sky has started to be burnt away by an increasingly confident, dare I say cocky, sun. It promises to be a lovely day. That’s what the Met Office weather app says, anyway. Albeit less poetically, and with pictures.
I’m sure, dearest reader, you’ve gathered that I have nothing of significance to impart to you on this fine day. Yep. True dat. So, instead, I might equip you with a list to be going along with. It seems to be the only right and proper thing to do. You onboard, so to speak? Okay. Deep breath. Here goes:
- Every morning I’m taking a, not ridiculous, but, let’s say, silly number of pills. Regarde: MitoQ x 2 (no idea if they’re having any effect at all, or what exact effect they should be having); Gabapentin x 2 (to be repeated twice more throughout the day, if you’re an MSer it’s 3x900mg – for LOUSY NERVE SPASMS – these work, good); sertraline, for my MOOD; amantadine (for the FATIGUE – don’t appear to be doing cuss-all). I’m not quite rattling yet, but, you know.
- Item two on my list. Er. I’m still under the specific weather system a committee has voted, unanimously, to call FATIGUE.
- It’s not like I’m completely incapacitated though, before you rush over with magazines and lovingly prepared meals in little goddam Tupperware boxes. More inconvenienced. Thanks, though.
- Can I get away with not washing my hair this morning? Because that’s such a tedious life-force sucking activity. And I really can’t be bothered. It’ll be alright, right?
- Final list item: this is the end of the list.
Are you still here? Well, can you leave please? Go! I’ve got a day to attack. Or nudge. Clip, at least.
*This isn’t a good sentence. Badly constructed. I mean the sounds, not the actual birds. Okay?