South Park Self

take me to your lizard

I have just put my mother onto the plane back to the UK, and my house is curiously empty. Save for elevated levels of both Earl Grey and Bombay Sapphire, because she knows me well and had laid in both for when I visited her at her house-sit. In retaliation I sent her back to the UK with the jar of Milo, of which she is fond, and which otherwise will sit in its jar and solidify until she's back next year, necessitating her chipping it out in chunks with a butter knife. I note for posterity and with considerable pleasure that my mother is of the ilk with whom I can cheerfully participate in a restrained and genteel fangirl session about Benedict Cumberbatch. She also during her visit made a new loose cover for my sofa and re-upholstered six dining room chairs. I like my mother. She can stay any time. Is it ridiculous that at my advanced stage of adulthood, or at least "adulthood", I still miss her when she's gone?

I have been navigating an extended session of post-'flu exhaustion, which caused my doctor to put me off work for all of last week, which was rather pleasant. It's usually a good indicator that I need the rest when she gives me that stern look and an injunction to book myself off regardless of my work commitments, and my desperate sense of "oh god yes please" completely outweighs the randomised guilt. She also gave me an antibiotic to hit the sinus infection, which was less successful: (a) I still have the bloody sinus headache, I wake up with it every morning and have done now for about ten days, and (b) the antibiotic gave me the most ungodly side effects, namely nausea, sleepiness and the general affect of one who lives on another planet entirely and is only reluctantly visiting this one in partially-manifested physical form. Has anyone else had a run-in with Moxibay, or am I entirely idiosyncratic in my response?

I am, however, definitely on an upward trajectory in terms of energy and the ability to, you know, actually achieve anything useful, which means, calloo callay, the depression cloud is lifting. And next week is the mid-term vac and I'm off work for two days of it, so yay! I propose to celebrate the leave by buying a Welsh dresser and planting tomatoes. (Not in the Welsh dresser).

(The nice psychologist on campus, incidentally, has confirmed that my spirit-possessed student is indeed psychotic. It's probably fortuitous, under the circumstances, that he spent the trip down to the health centre lying peaceably on my back seat mumbling to himself rather than giving vent to any violent directions from the voices in his head.)
What is Milo?

No, you are entitled to miss your Mother, when she returns to her home, however old you are.

Glad to hear your health is generally improving. Though not nearly, I suspect, as happy as you are!
I've met other Milo fans in expats. Offering them Ovaltine (N.Am option) or Horlicks(UK) as malty just-add-milk choices just drives home the fact that It's Close But Not The Same(tm).

I wonder if UK schools have to deal with 'posessed' students often?

How are the bookshelves? How is your feline overlord(s?) in the new digs?