Moar fear and paranoia.

It’s happened. Just as I, internally, predicted and feared. From the first sign of a sniffle and snot production from Miriam, to the bed sharing because she’s ill (and the temperature has dropped, and let’s face it it’s nicer sleeping in the big bed with Mum and Dad isn’t it?), to the feeling of doom and tiredness last night, to the final “told you!” of waking up this morning with a slight sniffle and a scratchy throat.

It really is that time of year. I’m just glad I’m not on methotrexate at the moment, it would probably have been a lot worse. I’d be incapacitated, bed bound, and throwing toys out of the pram about the slopes of Yorks Hill being insurmountable.

After 10 minutes of pissing and moaning I remembered that I’ve been here before and I usually live.

 

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Moar fear and paranoia.

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