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Day seven

November 7, 2016

Happy birthday to me!

Years ago (more than I care to remember) when a good friend of mine and I were sharing a home, we used to have a birthday routine. When whichever one of us had their birthday, the other would be waiting to ensure the first thing they heard when they got up was The Beatles’ Birthday song. Then there would be Eggs Benny and Buck’s Fizz for brunch.

I suddenly remembered those birthdays yesterday. When I got up just now, I dug the CD out and played the song. And danced. At 10am I was dancing in the livingroom. What a great way to start the day. Dancing. Blimey.

Even though it’s a bit of a pain to make for (and clean up after) yourself, later on there will be Eggs Benny and Buck’s Fizz. (The latter will be made with non-alcoholic bubbly, but that’s just fine. Means I can even have a “drink” while I’m making the Eggs Benny.)

During my first session with the Nurse last month, she asked me how I was sleeping. I said fairly well, although I was having some difficulty getting off to sleep some nights. Mostly this was the result of suddenly thinking, just as I was drifting off, of some panto-related job I needed to remember to do. (Having now directed several productions in varying states of mental wellbeing I can guarantee this always happens.)

She suggested, with no hint of irony, that it often helped to count your blessings before you tried to go to sleep. Count your blessings? Seriously? She looked so sincere as she told me this, said she did it herself. This was before the meds kicked in. Count my blessings? Hmm. I wasn’t homeless. I didn’t have some horrible, incurable disease. I supposed, when push came to shove, those counted as blessings, but they were hardly likely to help me get to sleep. (After that, whilst still on the subject of sleep, she asked if I had to get up in the night to pee. “No,” I said  “I’ve got that to look forward to.” That night, that very night, I had to get up in the middle of the night to pee. Spooky or what?)

Like my wonderful doctor the week before, she also told me not to be afraid (read ashamed) to tell my friends what I was going through. Hmm.

It was after that, still waiting for the meds to kick in, I sat down here and wrote my appeal. Please help this woman get a haircut, a bottle of prosecco, a gym membership. The first two seemed doable, the third more of a wish. Knock me over with a feather. Within a few days I there was enough money in my PayPal account for all three, plus, if I can avoid getting giddy now, possibly even another watercolour course in January. Blimey.

This evening I am meeting some people of whom I am very fond for dinner, a couple of pints and a game or two of pool in my favourite pub. (Yes! Thanks to the new owner, who isn’t a complete dickhead, the pub is once again open year round. Surely that counts as a blessing? Must remember to include it if I ever am counting them.)

It will, I know, be a very jolly evening. A month ago I was dreading my approaching birthday, wondering how on earth I could justify spending money to go out for a meal with a couple of friends. Could I have contemplated an almost party with multiple people eager to wish me the best on my birthday? No, I honestly could not. (Nor could I have imagined that my birthday would be the seventh day in a row I got up an wrote something.)

It seems I am rather blessed.

Now, what else do I need for my day to be complete? Let’s see…

It would be nice if Ian Rankin was waiting for me in the post box later, but I can live without that.

After using a shower cap since Friday, I had no choice but to wash my hair this morning. It would be nice if it still looked almost as good after I dry it as it did when I walked out of the salon, but I can live without that.

It would be very nice indeed if one of the cats suddenly knew how to do so and gave me a back tickle before I went to sleep tonight. (Mike had many faults, as we all do, but when it came to back tickles he was world class. It’s been too long.) Yeah, that would be very  nice, but it ain’t gonna happen and I can live without it.

No, there are only two things I need to make my birthday complete.

I need my Prothero co-star to agree to do my one-act play next year (thus giving me something good on which to focus in the coming long, dark months of winter). And, even though it won’t happen today, I need the US electorate to wake up sane tomorrow morning. (Don’t we all?)

Happy birthday to me.

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From → Black dog diary

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