The Pox, day three (or something)

Woke up twice in the night, dripping, literally. My t-shirt was like I'd jumped in a bath with it on. Had to change, turn the duvet over so I had a dry-ish side. Felt awful again this morning, stiff, sick, achy, and had erupted in a million more spots. I couldn't hazzard a guess how many now, hundreds and hundreds. I've taken a couple of photos, so if you don't want to see, don't scroll down! Only my torso bit, there are probably at least a hundred on each leg, each arm, in my head and neck, so you can play counting on the bits you can see and work it out. I can't even bear to brush my hair because my head is so sore.

Sat on the sofa feeling very sorry for myself, didn't want to watch telly, didn't want to be on my laptop, thought about going back to bed. Thought I'd try and eat something, so did a bit of cheese on toast, and then started to feel a bit better. I ended up cleaning out Chippy and the guinea pigs, and taking the bin bags out for the men tomorrow, so quite pleased really - I thought all those things were a no-no this morning.

The only thing is I don't feel I'm missing out on anything, because the weather is so attrocious that I doubt I'd have gone anywhere even if I'd been okay, the rain hasn't stopped here in about three days I don't think, may even be longer, and the wind howling, although that dropped this afternoon. Poor Emma is fed up though, she doesn't know what's up, and I have to keep pushing her away, she wants to sit on my lap and I can't bear it, too hot and too sore to have her crammed up against me.

Don't scroll if you don't want to see