Still feeling miserable, razor blade throat. Stayed home from work. Unthinkable, unheard of. Even watched some morning television, that tells you bad I am. And the midday movie as well, even squeezed out a tear at the appropriate moment in the story, oh dear, when will I feel human again.
Most energetic thing I attempted all day was to hang the Christmas cards which have been arriving since early last week. Will I manage to reciprocate? Somehow I don't think so. Not that I don't value my friends, don't get me wrong, but with my main Christmas shopping days having passed over the last two Fridays while very under the weather, and no cards or gifts bought, I'm going to be up against it this year.
It's not like I live just round the corner from the shopping centre and can nick out when I feel better. Here I am just north of central Tasmania part way up a mountain, 45 minutes from the nearest town of any substance, a 120 km round trip, not the trip I really want to do, can afford to do, or have the time to do more than my scheduled once a week. Living here does have its advantages though. With less than 200 people in this little village, everyone knows everyone else, not in the bad sense of everyone knowing your business and intruding on it, but in the sense of looking out for each other and caring about what you're dealing with. Bev the postie brought my mail on her way home (we don't have home delivery, everyone picks it up from the community post office), as well as my Monday paper, just to make sure I wasn't on death's door.
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