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Disability Bitch
Disability Bitch vs beds
13th August 2007
Hello readers. Forgive me if I don't sound like my usual cheerful self. It's just ... It's all a bit dark in here. See, it's National Love Your Bed Week, so I took to mine for the entire seven days just to test how much I adore it. Well, I can now exclusively reveal that I HATE BEDS.
Here are the highlights of my week:
DAY 1: I am quite enjoying this. Not getting out of bed means not walking and not putting shoes on, two things I HATE. I could get used to this.
DAY 2: I attempt to drink a cup of tea while listening to the radio. A loud noise during The Archers - maybe a cow mooing, I forget - triggers my startle reflex I spend the rest of the day lying in cold tea.
DAY 1: I am quite enjoying this. Not getting out of bed means not walking and not putting shoes on, two things I HATE. I could get used to this.
DAY 2: I attempt to drink a cup of tea while listening to the radio. A loud noise during The Archers - maybe a cow mooing, I forget - triggers my startle reflex I spend the rest of the day lying in cold tea.
DAY 3: My PA changes the sheets and brings me toast and marmite in bed. It is very nice toast, but I am still picking the crumbs out of my underarm hair, and probably will be for the rest of my life.
DAY 4: The PA refuses to assist with picking the crumbs out of my crevices. I sack her.
DAY 5: I wake and discover that I have pulled the corner of the sheet off the bed in the middle of the night, and that the poppers have come open on my duvet cover. With no PA to assist me, I make the best of the situation and wrap myself in the bedclothes.
DAY 6: During the night I have become stuck in the bedclothes. I am trapped and there seems no way out.
DAY 7: I am so cold and disorientated that I can no longer follow the plot of The Archers. Please send assistance. Please.
I'm raising the alarm with the neighbours right now, though it is August and there's a possibility they're in Lanzarote for a fortnight. See you next week. Maybe.
* Startle reflex: that thing where, when there's a loud noise, my spazzy limbs flail uncontrollably despite all efforts to keep them under control.
DAY 4: The PA refuses to assist with picking the crumbs out of my crevices. I sack her.
DAY 5: I wake and discover that I have pulled the corner of the sheet off the bed in the middle of the night, and that the poppers have come open on my duvet cover. With no PA to assist me, I make the best of the situation and wrap myself in the bedclothes.
DAY 6: During the night I have become stuck in the bedclothes. I am trapped and there seems no way out.
DAY 7: I am so cold and disorientated that I can no longer follow the plot of The Archers. Please send assistance. Please.
I'm raising the alarm with the neighbours right now, though it is August and there's a possibility they're in Lanzarote for a fortnight. See you next week. Maybe.
* Startle reflex: that thing where, when there's a loud noise, my spazzy limbs flail uncontrollably despite all efforts to keep them under control.
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