So, today, like so many days before it, is hospital day.
Oh, the joy. I can’t tell you how excited I am by the prospect of sitting around for hours, waiting for a specialist who is too busy to care to tell me that there’s nothing they can do except operate…which will possibly not work anyway.
But I am not feeling in the slight bit stressed, or worried, or angry by the prospect of wasting another perfectly good day in the company of the NHS (I’m not knocking them, I’d be a gonna without them…)
You see, I’m thinking about the good things. The happy things. The things that make life seem so good.
Like the warmth of a puppy curled up next to you. And the smell of freshly washed hair. Of picnics in parks in summertime, of dancing on beaches, of reading a book with a story that’s so good you never want it to end. Of how good it feels to be loved. I’m thinking about the window display of Ottolenghi, of strolling through Islington with the sun on my face, of hearing that song on your iPod that makes you remember where you were, who you were with, what you were doing the first time you heard it. I’m thinking about my gorgeous friends, of laughter and fairylights, of foreign airports and of walking barefoot and not caring and of days when I will be free…
So no matter what I get told today, whether it’s good, or bad, or ugly…I know I will be OK.
I have so much to be OK about.