I’m oscillating between writing about being sick and writing about my last day of work in the office for a while. One the one hand the latter is a grand occassion that portends enormous change, on the other, the former is making me cough an awful lot and it’s pure uncomfortable. 

Funny how the monumental can be overshadowed by the entirely temporary. I doubt I’ll remember this cough in a weeks time, unless it’s sticking around the way it was last week. I just can’t kick the thing, and it’s entirely my fault. I’ll be gentle with myself, eat the special soup and feel better. Then I’ll decide I’m better and go out for a drink which I only ever do on Mondays now, and feel like shit. Not my finest choices, these. 

I’d very much like to be not sick by the end of the week.I think that’d be the best thing. I’d prefer to remember the sickness I had that encroached on the beginning of parenthood, not the sickness I had that overlapped it and made it a bit tougher.

But, we don’t really get to choose these things do we?
That’s likely for the best, because who’d choose to be sick for hard times? And who wouldn’t learn and grow from that very thing?