6am – oh bless, she’s overtired…
Have been up for about an hour now, reading dad’s essay about ‘the sympathetic contract’ between a poem’s reader and its author. Amazed that my brain can focus so sharply at this time of day. I used to be such a bed-bug in the mornings. Old Alpha would be shocked by how I’m squandering all of these school holiday lie-ins.
The really positive news is that I haven’t had blood in my poo for two days straight, so I think the Infliximab might actually be working. I’m glad these drugs are worth the minor side-effects.
Yesterday was a bit of a weird day. I felt exhausted. Perhaps I overdid it – I saw two of my best mates at lunchtime then I went to do last minute Christmas shopping with T. By the time we got back I was pooped, so I had to have a nap, which I never really recovered from.
My emotions were all over the place too. I felt angry, hungry, sad, hysterical (I hate that word but the English language is sadly lacking a better synonym) – the whole gamut of difficult emotions. One minute I was laughing and the next; tears were streaming down my face. I think this is the adult equivalent of as a toddler, wailing to your parents “I’m not tiiiiiired!”, crying, then falling asleep in your dinner. I felt properly crazy. Mum and T ordered me to go to bed, so in the end I dutifully carried myself upstairs.