"We'd noticed that you hadn't blogged and had started to wonder if you were still alive".
The answer would be, for those of you who might in an odd second of boredom wondered, yes. Though, "just about" would probably be the required addition. What started as something of an annoyingly persistent cold in the middle of November managed to mutate itself into something that had me passing out, vomiting on my driveway and for a few hours one Sunday not really being sure who or where I was. Certainly I'm almost a stone lighter than I was three weeks ago and I'm much perturbed about managing to miss a myriad of drinking and dancing opportunities. I have resolved to hold Corinne's Post Christmas Christmas Party once I can officially drink alcohol again. But the perturbed-ness is a good sign; even though I'm still sleeping for twelve hour stretches that I have the energy to be perturbed I see as a positive.
So now it is Boxing Day (I woke up this morning and for the first time in a while didn't feel nauseous, this did not, however, stop Dean and Director Boy asserting that I have morning sickness. Obviously I do not. I hope.) and I am where it is traditional for me to be at such a time of year: at the WYP, using my time between closing the show and the interval exploding to search online for a new dress for when I (all things crossed) finally get to see John Barrowman next week.