January 2020

I’ve started off the year/decade with an real itch. No metaphors there, I’m currently three weeks into chicken pox. And wow, does it suck. I’ve been fortunate to have done 4 and a bit decades with relative good health. Yeah, there’s the asthma and migraines. But I’ve got them all under control. And I know how they work. This pox is a whole new thing. First time I’ve been signed off since the broken arm. And boy, it’s sickness personified. I have become at one with pajamas. I call my bed, my home. I come down to the lounge for a holiday. 

I get why they have kiddie chicken pox parties, because you do not want this as an adult. 

But I feel I’m getting better, I’m remembering conversations, I’m able to stay awake more than 3 hours at a time (yippee) and I can travel to the shops without requiring a nap on return. 

I’m not fussed that I’ve started 2020 all itchy and rashy. I don’t believe that that sets me up for a year of failure, because I have some awesome things planned for myself - and I’m also not superstitious about things like years etc (we can talk about that walking under a ladder another time). 

I can also predict that in 168 days I shall be singing out loud, with my hands way up high, and my feet off the ground, as I jump around (musically obs) in Hyde Park. 

One week left to January and I’m going to wave it goodbye with a smile, as I will be pox free by then, for sure, hopefully, definitely, possibly, maybe.