Roch and Tom have gone to the Arsenal match. Like last time, the plan was for Roch to drive to the Emirates, but that wasn't possible today. Shortly after I waved them off, I heard the key in the door. Left arm failed to cooperate. So they got a taxi. It's better in a way. Less stressful, less to worry about, but it's not a good sign. It's a blow.
Yesterday he stayed off work because of a bad night. I forced myself in although with incipient migraine. In my defence, with my meds it often passes off, but not this time. After an intense morning with many demands on my attention (don't get me wrong, I do enjoy my job), I realised at lunchtime that I would have to call it a day when my stomach lurched the very instant a colleague brought his lunch into the room (a usually delicious aroma of chinese food). I made my preparations and eventually left before 3pm. On arrival home I once again encountered the croissant I had gingerly consumed for breakfast, then retired to await relief, which came only today, mid-morning, leaving me exhausted.
Meanwhile, back to yesterday and Roch home alone. Not usually a problem, but he tells me that it took him a long time to prepare his lunch. He likes to do this, but yesterday he needed lots of rests. I need to be more organised and make preparations for these eventualities. Seems so obvious after the event. Note: frozen dishes, microwave meals, easy to prepare. It may also have something to do with the kind of thing he likes to cook, which involves lots of chopping and preparation. We will have to discuss less labour intensive dishes for days when I'm not around at lunchtime.
Well, at least Arsenal beat Swansea. I mean, there's only so much a man can take.