Colds and Chimneys

I'm currently typing this in my bed, while the cats sit nearby watching with mild curiosity between cleanings. But that's cats for you. If they can't eat it, sit on it, sit in it or play with it they couldn't care less, and they haven't quite worked out what category the Chromebook falls into yet.

I'm in bed at nearly 3pm for two reasons. One; it's bloody cold in the house and I can't put the heating on as my my little arms are about two inches too short to reach into the gas cupboard and activate the meter. These are the perils of being short that people don't tell you about. Two; I'm bloody tired. I don't know if it's because I'm just not sleeping well (because I'm not), because I've come down with what feels like another sinus infection that leaves all my internal face tubes clogged up and liable to produce headaches and/or other unfortunate symptoms, or for some other reason, but there it is. I get up early in the morning, have breakfast and get stuff done, and then around 1-2pm my body suddenly feels like it's been hit with a truck. It's especially annoying because I had thought that the metformin tablets and the shiny new healthy diet were supposed to have fixed this - and they did. For about two weeks. Now I'm right back to needing to nap in the afternoon. My productivity may never recover at this rate.

At least I know why I didn't sleep well last night - the constant fear of hearing the sound of crumbling brickwork above me, followed by crashing as the chimney keeled over onto next door's parked car or a wandering drunk. I'd been hoping that the landlord was going to call or e-mail this morning to say someone was on their way to look at it or even better fix it, but no such luck. I'd dreading the possibility of having to place an anonymous call to the council about the "dangerous chimney" that's leaning and sending bits of masonry down to the ground whenever there's a still breeze, but if he doesn't get back to us by the end of the week I have the horrible feeling that's what I'll have to do.

I am a ball of exhaustion and neuroses: is it any wonder I'm having a problem getting any writing done right now?