It's not faaaaaaaaair!

After much jubilation last night at the realisation that I finally, finally!, can stop, I planned on a good long lie-in today and to spend as much of my day as possible in pyjamas. I have no 6am breakfasts to attend, no interviews to get dressed up for, no job to be on time for. I can finally take a breather and just stop.

The lie-in wasn't meant to be. Throughout the morning I received 5 txts, which I ignored. On my mobile I had 3 missed calls, and I was woken up on multiple occasions by the house phones annoying trill. When I finally gave in and checked the answerphone I discovered multiple abusive messages from the grandparents because I dared to not answer the phone to them.

I've not lived at home for the past 3yrs. They've never cared enough to call me even once over those past 3yrs. Now, just because my parents have gone away and left me in charge of the house they feel the need to check up on me. And if I dare to leave the house, or just choose not to answer the phone, they panic that I have somehow killed myself. Did they call my sister at the same time to check she's still alive? No, of course they didn't! They only call me because I'm living in my parents house... maybe they're worried that if I die the plants will die, and they wouldn't want their son to come home to a house full of dead plants now, would they?

I returned the calls, to be severely chastised for my thoughtless behaviour - "Yes Grannie, no Grannie, sorry Grannie, I will Grannie". Apparently I need to check the answerphone every day in case there's a message from her or the parents... I could have mentioned that I already do (hence why I knew there were 3 messages left by her this morning, and one left by the parents yesterday). Then I had to hear that the parents are (unsurprisingly) having a wonderful time! And that when they spoke to them it was "as clear as anything - as if they were in the next room!". Gosh, the wonders of modern technology eh, Grannie?


But after being rudely awoken from my freaky dreams (one in which we were using a shelf in Asda to store our own food. Such as lemon curd pies... and there was a shop assistant called Sausage Roll. Another where I was carrying a friends baby round, showing her dogs that resembled lions and a lake with acid water.) for the hundredth time, I gave in and crawled out of bed... only to discover I have done something horrible to my back.

Maybe I slept in a funny way, or maybe all this cycling I've been doing recently really isn't good for me. But something is wrong, and painful, and just sitting here typing is causing me quite a bit of pain.
So I cancelled my swimming plans with Becca and, instead, I'm wallowing in self-pity. Actually, scratch that, I'm not very good at self-pity... I'm just going to attempt to watch some of the Olympics and eat the box of Thornton's Dad bought before he left. Plan.