So that's why I feel like shit

Day 16

So, I have an ear infection, which explains some of the recent headaches and such. Annoyingly, things have to get quite severe before it becomes clear that it's not just my usual aches and pains, but something else on top. Am quite wobbly and dizzy as I type this, but am also quite bored, so am persevering.

Felt dreadful this morning, then took exception to something Steve said and BOOM! - dumped all my frustration and misery on him by having a real go at him over not a lot. Why do I do this? I know it's very human and I was really pulled down by the pains drilling into the left side of my head. I know I was over tired and over extended from gritting my teeth and pushing through when all I wanted to do was cry. I know all that, but really, is it a valid excuse?

Our relationship isn't perfect - rather more of a work in progress - but it won't get any better if I act like that. I resolve to treat him more as I would want to be treated, if the tables were turned, though it's quite hard, isn't it, to put yourself in somebody else's shoes.

Good old Mrs Do-as-you-would-be-done-by and Mrs Be-done-by-as-you-did from the 'Water Babies' would have something to say, I expect. Whenever I was ill as a child, I was left alone with a book as my nurse for the day, while my parents went to work. They had to - there was never enough money in the household as it was, without them taking days off. So chicken pox was 'What Katy did', and the german measles was 'Little Women', and I think the mumps was probably 'The Water Babies'. Weirdly, a burst appendix was 'The Pilgrims Progress' which had been left on the windowsill of my mother's room, where I was in bed as it was near the loo. Going into 'the slough of despond' whilst puking up black bile is too surreal for words.

Maybe the fragile state of a body below par is a fertile ground for influence, but I remember those books very clearly. A lot of my young childhood ones were heavily moralistic, with tales of female self-sacrifice and goodness being a major selling point. Compare and contrast the uncomplaining Helen from 'What Katy Did', suffering gallantly on her deathbed, trying not to make any trouble for any body, with, say, Tracey Beaker or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Don't get me wrong, I loved the books and all the people in them. Like Jo in 'Little Women' I wanted to grow my hair so long I could sell it, don't ask me why. I wanted to dance like the girls in 'Ballet Shoes' (though I preferred tap) and above all, to vanish into a fantasy world through a wardrobe (though I was quite scared in dark, enclosed spaces). So have I modelled my I've-got-a-bug-and-I-want-to-die persona on my sickbed heroines of those old, much loved books? Do I feel so guilty about this morning because I think my husband doesn't deserve it (he doesn't), or because I have been programmed to aspire to something else?

I don't know.

I do know that I try to be Mrs Walk-a-mile-in-someone-else's-shoes-before-judging-them, and I think that is no bad thing. Can I get a bit more Mrs Do-as-you-would-be-done-by? Maybe. If it leads me to treat people with more understanding and respect without excluding myself from those values, then why not. I'm not into self-sacrifice - that is no gift to the person on the receiving end, but maybe asking myself "Is this how I want to be spoken to, and how much would I listen if they did?" might not be a bad thing.