On being an Impatient

I've forgotten how to be sick. I've had such a long dry spell of health that I was beginning to get cocky; I sneered at the weaklings snuffling on buses and shot looks of disdain at people who dared to sneeze in the queue at Sainsbury's. And then Christmas came, and with it a houseful of family and a complete break from my usual routine and all the excitement and stress of Christmas (held at our tiny flat this year) and the emotional frenzy I whipped myself into at the prospect of seeing my mother and sister again after over two years. And so I succumbed. I snuffled and hacked and wheezed my way through the season of joy and merriment. Christmas day I spent ferrying dishes to the table while high on Sudafed. New Year's Eve I was asking our very amiable waiter to bring a cup of hot water and lemon to the table along with the champagne. And everywhere I go I leave a trail of Kleenex. But now that all the craziness has ebbed and mummy and sister have left (both with a party bag of my germs; sorry!) I just want to lie down and curl myself into a pretzel under a duvet. But January is cruel and relentless and bills need paying. How I wish we could draw a veil over the next two months and skip straight to March, when my knee will have recovered enough to allow me to start training for my next marathon and I shall be performing on a London stage in a piece of new writing. ..