Does anything come in mixed bags nowadays? Presumably there were mixed bags of all sorts of things once upon a time – sweets, veggies, ammunitions, sex toys, disposable limbs – so much so that the phrase ‘a mixed bag’ came into popular use. Now that actual mixed bags of stuff seem to have gone out of favour the expression lingers, like a strange smell in a stairwell.
My week is a mixed bag. No really. I’ve been gathered up with sundry unrelated items and plopped into a paper bag on a gigantic counter. We await purchase by huge hands once the passing over of big shiny coin has happened.
Or, my week is a mixed bag metaphorically. Yes, that one. I’m feeling like the beginnings of a flare up with my respiratory shit is kicking in with demoralising familiarity. I know the drill. It’s the power tool people use for making holes in walls which they then wish they hadn’t done if they move out and have to spend fucking days putting blobs of polyfiller into the holes before repainting the entire house so the landlord will give them back their deposit money. I also know the drill for when flare ups begin and am taking appropriate actions, medications, chanting mantras without swearing and generally wishing I had somebody else’s lungs.
But I’ve just had a call form the mental health services and my next assessment will now be a week from today so things haven’t taken too long to get moving again on that front. And if I’m stuck at home for a few days if this is a flare up then I will have more time to myself to go over what was said at the previous assessment and what the issues are that need looking at in further therapy sessions. No, not everybody’s idea of fun, nor mine, but this sort of thought is necessary in order to engage with and more readily benefit from therapy so I can and will turn extra duvet hours into a positive.
I’m tired though. Can somebody bring me round some energy? This is not code for a narcotics order. But if you have funky narcotics then bring them too, take them all at once and I can laugh at you from the safety of my bed when you think you’re being attacked by a bear in my carpet.