Between the moving days, I have been busying myself unpacking stuff and making space for more boxes and furniture.  Yesterday I spent the day at the flat trying to decide where to put certain items, and moving furniture to try and decide where it should go.  My brother came by in the morning and we took a load of stuff from here to there, and he commented on how he didn’t like stuff where we had put it.  That boy has no imagination… (but thanks for the help!!)

Anyway at some point yesterday, a niggling sore throat turned into a streaming cold and I am not happy.  I’m usually quite stoic about colds, in fact I don’t go to the doctor unless I have had a high fever for a week, but this is really all I needed.  Apart from the practicalities of trying to do stuff when your body is trying to expel snot by the litre – always needing tissues nearby, loud and violent sneezing in multiples of 5, breathing through your mouth, ears blocked and popping constantly – the painful swallowing and fuzzy feeling makes me feel like I am not firing on all cylinders.  I am slower, and at the moment I don’t feel like I can afford to be.  Still, it is only a cold, and I am not above taking drugs to counteract the symptoms, I don’t usually pill-pop but in this case, I will make the exception.  The worst part is that it affects my ability to enjoy food and let’s face it, that is one of life’s few pleasures at the moment.  Anything that hinders my enjoyment of food should be nipped in the bud immediately, so I am hoping that it will pass quickly and I can go back to eating and unpacking without a tissue pegged to my nose.  My pockets now bulge attractively wherever I go because they always contain, in no particular order,  a tape measure, a marker pen, post-it notes, tissues and my magic notebook where I write everything down because I am pretty much forgetting stuff on an hourly basis these days.  I should probably invest in a fanny pack, but really, there are some sacrifices I am not prepared to make to the Gods of organisation.

This morning as I was taking the laundry down, I managed to slice my finger open.  Brilliant – laundry injuries are so common.  Apart from the fact that it hurt quite a bit, I also bled all over the clean and dry laundry thus necessitating a repeat experience, and the cut is on the tip of my finger which makes putting a plaster on it a challenge.  At first I wrapped it around the finger, but when I looked at the tip the cut was there, winking and bleeding at me.  So I turned the plaster round and now I have a little plaster puppet.  Oh, well, I have added a face and it will be something to talk about with my nieces.

I was hoping that would be it for the moving related ailments, but D & R both just woke up with flu-type symptoms and I feel like this may be a long week…

Tomorrow is Moving Day 2, so I will be drugging myself up to the gills and pushing through.

Wish me luck.

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