I've had this throat infection for two weeks now, and the antibiotics haven't really touched it. That is, I've stopped sweating, shivering and sleeping badly, but I'm still coughing. Perhaps it's an Aftermath. Anyway, with no remaining excuses (or, more pertinently, days left on my sick note), I went back to work yesterday. God, I'd almost forgotten how boring it is.
Still, it could be worse. It could be as bad as it was six years ago when I wrote this. Or, on a slightly more global scale, it could be Myanmar bad, or China bad. But we each have our own challenges to rise to, don't we? For some poor unfortunates, it's watching their bloated dead babies drift away on the outgoing tide, or wondering if they'll be able to catch enough rainwater off the roof to stop their family dying of thirst. On that kind of scale, my challenge - the challenge of dragging my sorry arse into work every day when I'd rather be at home writing - seems more like something I should be celebrating. And therefore: whinge over.
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2 comments:
Yes Digger we do have our own 'challenges to rise to'.
Sitting at a computer or buying the groceries or playing catch-up with colleagues is far less painful than fighting for the life of your children.
But although we live in relative safety and have all good things around us doesn't mean we have to scream with joy at our abundance.
Agreed. I still feel the need to be "grateful for my lot" though.
(*touches forelock and exits backwards, bowing*)
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