Treasure: Feverish and Fed Up

Treasure: Gems? Gold? Wealth? Winning the Lottery?

Sorry. I have no treasure to bestow, no maps to Caribbean islands (with their rumours of buried chests and piratical pieces of eight) secreted about my person…

The treasure chest of my soul is depleted.

I have picked up the local lurgy, a flu-like affliction which, in my case, has caused a fever, constant aching, some loss of respiratory efficiency and a tendency to burst into tears at the slightest sound of Baroque music. This is not helped by the ongoing vicissitudes of the move (an event which, like Estragon and Vladimir, seems to await Godot’s arrival indefinitely) and, today, a damp and grey and depressing world out there.

I am fed up. Tired of living in a state of uncertainty; tired of hope constantly crushed; tired of existing in the cramped insecurity of possessions taken down from shelves and ready to go; tired of garments hanging on the backs of doors; tired of trying to keep a smile, a laugh and hope for others when, at times, I feel so hope-and-happiness diminished myself; tired of the frequent crises, the threats to pull out, the legal minutiae which, like Jarndyce versus Jarndyce, seem to have a malevolent life, and a glacial movement, of their own; tired of being scared and feeling powerless.

So this morning, rain piddling down, I drove to Clevedon, on a legal errand, and was completely undone by the first movement of Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’ played on the harp – wept like a babe for much of the journey, my back and ribs spasming, it seemed, in time with the swishing regularity of the windscreen wipers. Feeling hot and light-headed doesn’t help.


I feel as if I am running just as fast and hard as I can towards the finishing line – but some unseen marshall keeps wrenching it back a few feet every time I get close. We are now into the sixth month of this ‘race’ – and I am exhausted. I could not even begin to tell you how many times I have provisionally booked a removal firm only to have to cancel that booking a week later: Put it this way, however, the calendar, since mid-October is littered with ‘Move?’ notations scored through with disappointed, angry and panicky lines.

This virus has come at a bad time – though I am hoping it won’t develop into full-blown flu. It shouldn’t: Because I am asthmatic, I get the flu jab each year. But I am feeling manky, under-the-weather, shaky, cotton-woolly around the ears and, not to put too fine a point upon it, bloody miserable.

As intimated at thee start of this post, I’m afraid I have no channelled images, or inspiring words, on the subject of treasure today. The only treasure you’ll get from me is the dubious box of buried goods which, opened, releases my honest, heart-felt feelings.



49 thoughts on “Treasure: Feverish and Fed Up

          1. Famous last words on my part (hoist on own petard or what?!): I am now suffering the slings and arrows myself. Mind you, some of that is going to be down to the past five and half months of stress and delays! xxx


  1. The plain truth is the whole housing system is geared to make one suffer unless one has piles of spare cash (and even then it can be as much fun as a course of sub cutaneous bamboo insertions). It took me four attempts to purchase schloss Ted and at the cost many folding coffee vouchers ‘en route’. Also anything (yes even my buying you soggy fish and chips at the rear of the old gas refinery whilst simultaneously making you listen to my latest attempt at music) will seem worse when illness strikes (er, well not much worse…). Be strong! Be persistent! Be yourself and as soon as you feel better the mountain will be a mere hillock…. xxxxx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Julie

    ‘The only treasure you’ll get from me is the dubious box of buried goods which, opened, releases my honest, heart-felt feelings.’

    A box full of honesty-filled and heart-felt goods can never be dubious! These goods are a treasure indeed as the alchemist of art will, one day, turn them into gold.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hope you feel better soon. I have two sick personalities to deal with just now…….. Hubby has gone down with eh Norwalk virus and Maggie is coming out in sympathy with the dog equivalent by retching. Both are now tucked up in bed snoozing. Sleep is the best therapy and revival method I know. Hope I don’t go down with it.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Fallen Saint

    Sending virtual hugs. It is good for the soul though to release these things into the universe. Finding emotion through music and the release it gives is a healthy way. I too find myself often in these turmoil places. Be well -Fallen

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, there is a lot of wisdom in this, Sue. Today, bereft of voice (which some would see as an ill wind, I daresay!) and feeling as rough as an entire sett full of badgers’ arses, I reckon this is as good a nadir moment as any to wrench myself away! We shall see what tomorrow brings. xxx


        1. Absolutely, Sue. Damned difficult and painful trying to whoop when the Lad played a solo with speaking equipment which sounded like a rusted engine labouring to start on a freezing morning. xxx


    1. Oh dear, poor you, Noah: It seems endemic at present, that and the NoroVirus (which, frankly, I am anxious to avoid, not being a huge fan of simultaneous purging!). Love your comment about the enemy’s trap for the hero: brilliant! xxx


  5. Pingback: Treasure – Daily Prompt – Ladyleemanila

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