Midults: Seven worries that keep us awake at night

The Midults
The Midults

What’s that pain in my hip?

It’s odd. I don’t remember feeling a twinge like it ever before. I don’t like it. It makes me feel old. Is it from Body Pump? I was like a bat out of hell in  that class. Even the instructor looked unnerved. Kept suggesting we all drink water and keep breathing, and I know that was directed at me.

He didn’t want anyone having a stroke on his watch. I’d drunk a lot of coffee. And had a row with my mother. I can’t sleep with this weird hip-stab. Or is it from cancer? Have I got hip cancer? I had three cigarettes on Friday night and I drink more than seven units a week. Well, sometimes two units in a week. Sometimes 60.  

I wonder if my ex is happy

He deserves a good, extended, recurring dose of misery if karma is in any way operational. So I hope he is suffering a bit. Not cancer suffering but  football-team-being-relegated suffering. Or falling-out-of-love-with-his-current-wife suffering.

Or a little light impotence – nothing chronic, but enough to take the shine off. Yes. That would work. But forgiveness is the key to happiness.

Resentment is like taking poison and expecting someone else  to die. No wonder I am awake. I have  a dark and festering, unforgiving soul. This is not the path to spiritual growth. So, actually, I fervently hope that my ex is happy. Except I hope not.

I hate my pillows

Googles ‘strange body-shaped pillow things’ for two hours.

I want to move house

It’s time. I’ve outgrown the possibilities of this place on the budget available for refurbishments. That budget, by the way, is currently zero [please note that here lies an opportunity to segue into deep financial panic]. So I should move. Somewhere a bit smaller. And smarter. Or a bit further out.

And bigger [please note that here lies an opportunity to dive into a bottomless Zoopla hole]. Yes, I could spend exactly what this would sell for but be completely transformed in my outlook and utterly happy. Good to know.

Except stamp duty. Oh God, stamp duty. I hate all these stealth taxes. Life is so hard. I’ll have to downsize in terms of space, area, attitude and aspiration. What’s that damp patch on the wall? Is this place subsiding? If I sell quickly enough, maybe no one will notice. Maybe I’ll move to India.

Do I need an ISA?

What is an ISA? 

Is The Queen going  to die today?

Is David Attenborough going to die today? Am I going to die today? Someone will obviously die today. But what freaks me out is the idea that we never know who. I shall have to live in a state of constant vigilance.

Dilemma: enjoy my life only to be struck down by the death of the Queen/Attenborough/someone I actually know, or expect the worst at all times and become even more un-fun. I am quite un-fun, aren’t I?

Maybe that’s why I’m awake. Am I having an epiphany? Is this a nervous breakdown? Or is it wind? How can one know for sure?

I HAVEN’T WRITTEN A WILL

If I were to die, surely everything would automatically go to my next of kin. Who is my next of kin? Do I even like them?

What if I just pop and fetch my laptop right now and write an  email of intent to my best friend and tell her exactly who should get what? Will that be enough to put Philip Hammond off the scent?

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