Good day, reader. This is a bland salutation with which to commence a blog post, but I'm feeling bland. Watery blancmange, dust-flavoured soy yoghurt, plain tofu style bland. This is not a way I enjoy feeling. The catalyst for this malaise is that for the past two days I've been resting and on painkillers, after moving the wrong way and doing something to my back. Pain-level, I am so much better. I feel stronger, but just apathetic and lethargic. Perhaps it's the painkillers - they've killed the pain but also taken out any skerrick of joie de vivre I ever had. And it happened in the most ordinary and banal of situations: I was cleaning my toilet. It made for a boring story when the doctor asked me how I had hurt myself. It would have been amusing to reply, 'Well, you know how it is, doc, when you're getting spit-roasted and all that...', but instead, I had to explain I was scrubbing my toilet bowl.
I just tried to watch a pre-recorded uni lecture, but found I couldn't be arsed. I'm back at work tomorrow, but have a long enough rostered break in which to view the lecture. I got through an assigned reading article (and enjoyed it), but I cannot be bothered thinking too much at the moment. I have been complying with doctor's orders and just lying flat on my back (although I'm currently sitting up to type), and watching television. This is what I've been looking at:
1. Some of that Meghan and Harry interview with Oprah. I am sorry for them. Being married into the British Royal Family must be dreadful, and the way the press treated that poor woman. The double standards over something as common as a pregnancy bump: there was an article showing the Duchess of Cambridge lovingly cradling her stomach, whilst the journalists practically jizzed with all the mawkish gushing over the sanctity of motherhood, juxtaposed against an article showing the woman formerly known as the Duchess of Sussex holding her pregnant stomach, with pointless and spiteful vitriol complaining she was touching her stomach for attention and vanity. Seriously, what the actual fuck? Why do people care if a pregnant woman touches her stomach? As someone who has been through two pregnancies, it is very natural to touch the bump. I suspect in my case, it was a primal protective instinct. Also, it was a good place to rest my hands at times. Is this the hill those miserable bags of negativity are going to die on? Funnily enough, or maybe not so funny if you're a grammar pedant like me, what stayed with me about the interview was Oprah speaking about the relationship of Kate and Meghan, and saying words to the effect: 'You and Kate, you're two sister-in-laws...'. Let me tell you, reader, had I not been on some kind of bedrest, I'd have thrown something at the television! Oprah, they are sisters-in-law, and I understand the term comes from old Canonical rules, but the law is singular whilst the people are the plural. Grrrrr. Thank goodness for Netflix, which lets me segue to...
2. Sex Education. I binged Series 2. If you haven't seen it, it has Gillian Anderson playing a British sex therapist named Jean, but the main character is her sixteen-year-old son, Otis. The dramatis personae are culturally and sexually diverse, and very different to my high school, I guess. The British accent Gillian adopts for her character is a bit distracting to me; she sounds like Margaret Thatcher having an asthma attack.
3. Insatiable. I've just started on this. It's an American revenge comedy about a slimmed-down teen named Patty who, now that she's 'attractive', decides to extract her pound of flesh from the kids who made her life hell. It's really quite amusing.
Anyway, I'd best shake off some of the slump and have a shower. I'm sure that will make me feel better.
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