Woke up at 4am. I think this was because foxy was going clank-bang leaping from the old cistern (which the bin men didn’t take, so I’ll have to dress up in my balaclava and use the skip down the road) to the bins. He poo’d round the bins too. Anyhow. I woke at 4am. I worried about Dad.
Mum says he’s still not right from Thursday’s fun and games. He’s lost his appetite, he’s not drinking anything like as much alcohol (only 2 glasses of wine and one of beer on Sunday, which is about 1/3 of the usual quantity). He says he feels lethargic, tired, achey. Now. The tests at the hospital on Thursday said “probably a virus”. But three months ago, N’s Dad had similar symptoms, and the hospital said it might be toxoplasmosis, and gave him antibiotics….and now just look where he is.
At 4am, one is not rational. Before first coffee, one is similarly not rational. Before first coffee, there’s generally an awake N. At 4am, well, he was sleeping so soundly, and making nice snorey noises, I didn’t want to wake him up.
One Daddy not being there for our wedding, and we’ll just about cope. Both…doesn’t bear thinking about. So why does it prey on my mind?