It has been a weekend that has left a slightly unsavoury feeling in my mouth. I had managed to contract a nasty fever already on Thursday (a national holiday), but still went to work the next day. I suppose having a 39 degree fever and expecting to have no consequences was a bit daft, though I knew there would be few children there. I also wanted to help finish of the construction and erection of a greenhouse that had been started last year.
At the end of the day I was exhausted. I was also in a Friday mood, so I had some wine when I came home. I ended up falling asleep early and waking up the next day with high fever, staying in bed until the afternoon. I eventually decided to cleave out of bed and made some food while Jo was in the middle of a massive tidy mission.
I do not know what I was thinking, but I took my ability to walk around as a sign that I could drink again. Which I did. A lot.
Sunday morning was horrible. Not because of a hangover, which I did not have, but because the effect the alcohol had on my nerves, already beaten down from being ill so many days. It felt like I was close to having a panic attack, and the short walk I took to assuage this just ended up giving me the sweats. The hypersensitivity I was experiencing was not helped from my excursion, as pangs of pain, numbness and aching back worsened my mental situation. Even after taking medicine, it took me about an hour to reach an acceptable state.
As bad as my own mental health may have been, I feel just as bad because I really did not see the family this weekend. I don’t think they minded – they were all busy doing other things – but I definitely think I missed out on an otherwise sunny couple of days.