Chronic Illness and Friendship

Hello, Internet. Just a brief note to let you all know that I'm still alive and loving you from afar.

thedatereport.com

I'm still weathering the woes of chronic illness at present but, never fear, I shall be back to my old, glitteringly enthusiastic self soon. Now, my recent status as an unwell lady has forced me to adapt in various areas, one of which has been my social life. What once was ridiculous heels and fabulous nights out, has now become cosy Skype dates and one on one meetings away from public places/germs whilst forcing my friends to hand-sanitise obsessively lest I catch Bubonic Plague 3: The Reckoning.

Needless to say, my new hermit-like status has exponentially increased my fancy for social media. By that, I basically mean me pretending I can work Vine without getting a migraine and using Snapchat without inadvertently swiping myself up, down, and sideways into oblivion. At the moment though, I'll take any connection to the outside world I can get, so I am veraciously consuming all mediums like a Jabba the Hutt of wifi, ineptitude be damned.

So desperate to engage, but too exhausted and in pain to actually do so, tends to lend itself to many missed calls on my part and slapdash Facebook encounters like this. I blame my friend, really. Now is not the time to ask me to explain the plot of Inception, woman:

"Well, they were trying to get some rich guy's password and influence him to make a certain business decision so they all climbed through his ear, into his brain. Then they flew out of his nose in a tiny, tiny plane when he sneezed (this might be an episode Sabrina The Teenage Witch)."

Because this is what being friends with me now looks like folks- confused and garbled but, much like an amuse-bouche, amusing and, well..... bouchey. Don't say I didn't warn you. Incidentally, according to our good friend Wikipedia, the literal translation of amuse-bouche from the French is, "mouth amuser". I mean, need I say more? I'm an excellent chef, I amuse people's gobs all the time.

On that note, I must go. I'm oh so tired and hurty. But I miss you, World and I shall post more when I have the energy and stop being a little pin cushion.

crafthubs.com

Now, tell me how you're doing. Tweet me, Facebook me, send a paper plane, train a badger to talk like a butler and have him bring me note on a silver platter then just shuffle away backwards as he says, "Very good Ma'am".


Toodles from beyond the duvet.

My Life As An Imposter

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