My body has finally given in to Endoftermitis. I’m generally very fortunate to have what I consider to be a pretty strong immune system, which has probably been strengthened over the past few years from a steady stream of child germs. Whenever I’ve inhaled an ill-timed spray of mank, my body has demonstrated a robust resilience. But I’m sad to report that right now, it’s sand paper central in my throat. Not cool.
I'm sure the defences have broken down partly because we’re at the end of an eight week slog fest. This term’s been crammed full, almost overflowing with stuff. (I don’t know what it would’ve looked like if it’d actually burst its banks and overflowed, but at times it got close and I reckon it would’ve been messy.) Lots of it has been fab, I have ticked off a lot of items on a lot of to-do lists and experienced much highly satisfying productivity, but it has nevertheless been a tiring one (and that's putting it mildly).
However, despite my abrasive throat in this final crawl to the finishing line, the metaphorical glass is half full and I’m actually feeling pretty chipper. The reasons for this are threefold:
- In the past twenty minutes, I’ve seen off a sizeable glass of plonk.
- We have massively lucked out with our term dates and are therefore waving au revoir to the little ones for a substantial 11 days at 3.30pm tomorrow. This seems considerably longer than any half term I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing before.
- If I’m honest, I probably can’t blame the throat thing entirely on a questionable work life balance as I think it possibly stemmed a little bit from last weekend…
Last week was the unequivocal definition of a slog. I kept my nose to the grindstone and ploughed through an unceasing list of jobs until I could do no more. So on Friday I dumped my teacher persona and did lovely things for an entire 42 hours.
The Boyfriend and I went back to the Motherland, and after receiving some sustenance chez parents, ignored the fatigue and enjoyed much merriment at a friend’s gig. The band were ace. #ellyismyfave. Impromptu fashion, we went out dancing with the band afterwards and even though it was a few decibels too loud (no joke – I had white noise in my ears until yesterday), it was wicked. We all merrily got a taxi back together and, like teenagers - encouraged by my 18 year old brother, whispered far too loudly upon arrival at home so that the parents could hear we were back.
On Saturday, we slept off the Jagerbombs and WKD and then went for a deliciously satisfying brunch at a lush little café. (When we walked in, a cute old granny looked up from her pensioner’s lunch and said “Ooh it’s the tall brigade!” Naww.) To burn off some of the excess calories, we then wandered around our favourite vintage shop before heading home to drink copious amounts of tea.
On Sunday, I couldn’t help but whip out the books for a bit but then after baking a cake (ok, after the boys baked a cake) we drove back home and went to see friends for dinner and a bout of Pictionary, which was also lush.
After an intense week it may have been a bit more sensible to have spent the weekend sleeping... But that wouldn’t have been half as fun. So yes, the Endoftermitis is probably partially self-inflicted. Nevermind. Once 3.30 arrives tomorrow and I’ve got more time to afford myself some recuperation, the immune system will kick back in. I know it.