It’s been quite an eventful July for me. Eventful being the operative word and the understatement of the year. It’s been a doozy.
My father has been ill and in and out of the hospital again. We’ve been through a lot since he suffered a stroke two years ago and he was diagnosed with artherosclerosis. But he is stubborn. Wonderfully stubborn. I think his stubbornness has buoyed him and coupled with his determination to get better, he has overcome a lot of obstacles. But he is now back home again. And I am so thankful that he is such a fighter.
We’ve had a mini-heatwave and I’m suffering! Can you believe it? The Filipina who has lived in a tropical country for 4/5 of her life is now suffering in temperatures that would be considered cool in the land of her birth?!? I’m still recovering from a possible heatstroke from being in London last weekend!
Work has been work and I constantly get on the work carousel where I love it and hate it in a sequence. At the moment, another change has happened that I’m really pleased about. So I think I’m going to be happy waking up most mornings and logging in to open my emails. I just need to pace myself because I think my carpal tunnel syndrome is rearing its ugly and horrible head again.
But the unthinkable happened on Thursday. I lost my phone. And it’s not something I can blame on someone else. It was all my fault.
The trains were late on Thursday (surprise, surprise!). When the trains finally arrived, I got on the usual carriage and noticed that it was strangely empty in the front half. I simply thought, “oooh more seats, yay!” Little did I know that the front half of the carriage was empty because of Mr Smellyman, sitting in the 6 seater section. I plonked myself gratefully on the seat and my phone beeped. It was a text message from home. When it’s from my sister or my mum or my friends, I kind of drop everything to look at the message. After I replied, I noticed the stink. It was horrible. It was then that the reality sunk in that the reason that part of the carriage was empty was because of the man I was sharing the 6-seater section with! In my haste to vacate the premises, I must have put down the phone on the seat instead of into my bag. I only realised that I lost my phone after the train left Marks Tey and it was probably too late by then.
When I got home, I rang my number and it went straight to voicemail. My heart sank because no amazing and kind soul handed in my phone at a train station. But I still lived in hope. You hear all these wonderful stories about people handing phones and purses in. I, myself, have done that a few times. I’ve handed in a shopping bag with lots of purchases, a man’s wallet, someone’s ticket holder with cash, a Blackberry when it was still fashionable to have one (around 2011, I think) and the first incarnation of a Samsung Edge. I had hoped that someone would also do that for me, if I lost my phone. It’s been 48 hours since I lost the phone. No one has gotten in touch and no one has handed it in.
I have accepted that I have completely lost my phone.
And yes, it was quite painful…I am still recovering.
To date, I think this is what I’d call my mense horribilis.