Free Invisible by Barbara Copperthwaite

even thinking about blowing it makes me wince. I’m feeling pretty
sorry for myself as I sit here wiping at my watery eyes so I can see what on
earth I’m writing – I am constantly on the verge of sneezing.
    5.30pm - Bless her, Kim text
to see if I needed anything but I didn’t feel right asking her to run errands
for me. Not when she has so much to worry about in her personal life. She’s a
good friend though. Ah, talking of good friends… Hannah. Can’t believe she blew
me out on Thursday night. To be honest I was going to cancel on her because I
felt so rotten but she got in first, using the catch-all phrase ‘something has
come up’. Pathetic.
    I’ve no energy to be annoyed
though. I’m using it all up on keeping my mouth hanging open and breathing in
and out. I want my nose back!!

 
    Sunday 9
    I’m snoring. I know this
because I actually woke myself with a particularly loud one. Gross. I’m sooooooo tired. Can’t sleep for more than an hour or so in
one hit because my nose is so bunged up I can’t breathe. I wake with a dry
mouth from sleeping with it wide open, while my nose runs like a tap, and my
chest feels heavy from the mucus gathering on it. Eurgh ,
having a cold is rotten.
    I really need a cuddle and
my stupid husband is miles away, working hard and earning a crust so he can
keep me in tissues – and believe me, I’m getting through them at a rate of
knots. Well, actually, I’ve used up all the tissues I’ve bought and have moved
on to loo roll. Let’s hope I either get better soon or Daryl comes home because
I don’t even want to think about what will happen if I run out of that…
    The problem with lying on
the sofa, mad with lack of sleep, is that my mind has free reign to dwell on
things without distraction (I don’t count constant reruns on telly of CSI and
Time Team as a distraction). As I lie here, waiting
and hoping for Daryl’s return, I realised that my whole life is spent waiting,
waiting, waiting. It’s on hold. I put off doing anything because I always think
it’ll be nicer to do it with Daryl than do it alone – and then we never get
round to it. I don’t even get to cook for him and look after him; we live on
takeaways when he’s around because although I do want to look after him, I
don’t want to waste our precious time together messing around in the kitchen.
    Oh the guilt. I’m a bad
wife.
    I really, really miss Daryl.
I just want him here, making everything okay. Just hearing his voice would be
good but he doesn’t like to call when abroad because of the cost.
    Bored, bored, bored . Ooh, phone’s ringing!
    It was Mum checking up on
me. She said: ‘I wish I didn’t live so far away so I could pop over to look
after you. But then again I know all you want is Daryl back; you’ll feel better
once he’s around again, and so will I.’
    She’s a big fan of his,
especially since I told her about his childhood. I think she wants to be his
replacement mum.
    I’ve just ricked something
in my neck while sneezing. Going to try to sleep now…

 
    Monday 10
    Amy and Hannah came over
after work today to check on the sickie. When I got Amy’s text I managed to
galvanise myself to pick up the tissues strewn all over the floor, which were
almost ankle-deep round the sofa and bed, so I must be feeling a bit better.
Even yesterday I couldn’t have contemplated that level of movement.
    I was looking forward to the
visit, bored of my own company, with nothing to think of but mucus. But the
minute I saw their faces I knew something was up. I felt like I was standing in
front of a firing squad, waiting for them to speak. They managed a minute or so
of nervous small-talk about how they’d brought some magazines over to keep me
occupied, and as Amy handed them to me I noticed her give Hannah the tiniest
nudge with her elbow.
    ‘ Erm ,
look I know you’ve been thinking something’s wrong for a while,’ Hannah said.
When she gets nervous she really talks with her hands.