.... pneumonia from being up early and having a tired immune system.
Here's a question.
Why do I give so much time to this blog? There are very few comments (not that I am a comment whore, but the evidence of there being other people who see this would be nice - I think....) and the blog itself cannot give me anything back. It just exists, as a stream of conciousness impaled upon spikes of binary. Or whatever people use to make the letters come up on the screen.
It is, however, refreshing to get up and vomit the contents of my brain onto here. It reduces stress in the evening to come home and do the same with the contents of my day. R hears more of the good stuff and less of the rubbish, because as I'm typing I think of things to tell him. Now, Dear Reader (whoever you are, and I suppose, Dear Me, if there are no readers!) I do not tell all, because of Workplace Confidentiality, the elephant in the corner of the room of every working blogger. In my case, it's a good thing (?!?!?!) as there are children involved and therefore they deserve not to have the blogsphere laughing at their bizarre behaviours, as, clearly, that's what I'd put on here!
So what do I give to this blog?
Myself, in a way that I haven't done like this before, on such a regular basis. I have other blogs, in which, mostly, are just reasonable poetry and miserable things that I don't want to look at anymore. I don't want to get rid of them, not just yet, so every now and again I sign in, but they are so sad (in a tears way) in places, that I wanted this one to just be R and AC and me. Happy happy joy joy!
And so Dear Reader (if you exist) I shall go and mark the maths books at supid o'clock am, thinking cheerfully of those idiots who think teaching is an easy job because we only work 9-3 and have all those great holidays. I bet they are tucked up in bed at 5 am.