I'm sure it was mentioned in howevermanythingsitwas to do before you're thirty and I've finally done it. Repeatedly, as it happens, over the last week. Epistaxis, goodness, that does make it sound exciting. Can't believe I've not done that before. You can picture me, at some time after 1am, awaking from a doze, coughing fit to burst and then doing so and bleeding all over my sheets. The bed looked like a murder scene after my drippy, fumbling attempts to work it out. I nearly had hysterics but didn't quite have the energy and so burst into rather pitiful tears. That did not last either. I was less surprised when it happened again and then again - though fortunately not all over my sheets. I am adding stain removal to my resume skills. I deserve a big gold star.
I have forgotten how to be alone in public. It makes me nervous, I've lost the knack. Out today I felt every eye upon me, a thousand laughing, pitying glances, a thousand thoughts that would do me no good to hear. Thoughts in that quick way one has when one crowd watches. The service people all treat me like scum. I like to think they do it to everyone. I am having to practice doing things on my own. Things outside routine. New things, old things done over. I need to force myself out and out of this rut.
I am tired, anxious, and depressed. I am so sick of being sick. It hasn't gone away. Will it ever go away? Will I spend the rest of my days obsessing about my wrecked and scabby nose that alternately sprays mucus and blood? And a throat sore but forcing words out at the rate of two hundred calls a day?
I complain too much I am sure. The good people, the better people, never complain at all - they take everything, all the time, they have so much that I do not have and I don't know what it is. They are simply better, I suppose.