This hasn’t really been a great week for me.
It started on Sunday night last week, with a very unexpected bout of insomnia. Without sleeping pills I haven’t been able to sleep before 6am since then and frankly, I’m exhausted. Thankfully, those lovely folks at the NHS have prescribed me some lovely toxic sleeping pills – when you’ve slept no more than five or six hours across two days you stop caring too much about all those nasty chemicals.
On Monday afternoon I figured I should get my poor car cleaned, in time for its MOT on Wednesday. I got a gorgeous red Peugeot 206 in early 2008, washed it once in 2009 and haven’t cleaned it since. Awful, I know, but I’m going to play that M.E card again. If you’ve only got a certain amount of energy each day and your husband is doing everything around the house after a full day at work, helping him out with a round of washing and making dinner takes a slightly higher priority than wiping the algae off the door of your boot. I had to pay £15 for five men to clean it at a local hand wash, and it took them a quarter of an hour to do it, which should give you some idea of how bad it was. Unfortunately, it seems that grime was all that was holding it together. It failed its MOT on the basis of being dangerous to drive (the brake levers were entirely rusted over and could snap at any time), had a hole in the exhaust and would cost more than £500 to repair. Ouch.
I mentioned it to my dad on the phone that afternoon and he offered to sell me his car for less than the cost of the repairs. Since repairing my car might mean selling a kidney, it was a no-brainer (albeit one that made me cry on and off for a couple of hours. My lovely car!!!). I’m devastated to have lost my beautiful (newly shiny, damnit!) red car and slightly pissed off at its ingratitude! I go to the trouble of cleaning it falls apart. Humph.
But things were about to get worse. After another couple of days of no sleep, during which I ended up in the lounge at 4am, crying like Moaning Myrtle while punching the crap out of sofa cushions in sheer frustration, I decided to stick it out in bed last night. The only time I got up was to pee, at which point our eldest cat started begging to join us in the bedroom. Well, he’s dying of advanced heart failure. Who am I to say no? I let him in, admitted defeat and took a sleeping pill, then laid down and waited for it to work. The cat decided he wanted snuggles, so he jumped onto the bed and laid himself down on my lower stomach…where he then peed all over me. It was not a deliberate act of aggression and in fact, he didn’t seem to be aware he’d done it. Neither did I, until I tried to turn over and realised I was soaked through. I had to wake up Husband and as I furiously scrubbed myself down in the bath, he had to change the bedcovers and try to clean up the mess. At 4am, this was not a welcome venture.
Now our cat has an appointment with the vet tomorrow morning to assess the cause of his sudden incontinence, I’m waiting for access to a new-ish car and who knows, maybe tonight will be the night I’ll sleep. But just to be on the safe side, the cats will not be allowed to join us in bed!