So, this is the last week of teaching for me and I’ve become sick as a dog with tonsillitis. A concert on Saturday for my singers, with Paul Sabey (Music theatre maestro) coming along to check out my skills as a teacher and I’m in bed trying not to feel hideous. On great swathes of medication and there is no chance of me getting my second chapter into my supervisor before the end of the month at this rate. Urgh.
On the other hand I’m kind of enjoying the enforced bed rest and Brisbane has become a little less oppressively hot this week as the rains fall, hooray. I was going to watch videos but I’ve discovered that half the CDs are warped nearly beyond repair, which is a total bugger. That’s Brisbane for you.
So, I’m lying in bed watching old reruns of Doctor Who and getting a headache from the angle of the pillows and the inaction. Hubby is being manful and impressed as I swallow pills with impunity – he knows I rarely take drugs – and realises I must actually be quite sick. This is a good thing as it means I don’t have to do anything. Couldn’t, anyway. Managed to drag myself to the nice doctor, then back home again to quietly die.