Nice

I must be nicer.
I must be nicer.
I must be nicer.

I like the word nice – maybe not to use in writing – but it says what I mean. I am a nice person; not perfect, but mostly I am nice, in a kind of bland and average way.

I’m no Mother Teresa but nor am duplicitous. I try not to judge too quickly and if I do, I try to give people a chance, even a second chance. I sit uncomplainingly next to the mad aunt at the wedding or the neighbour with halitosis. I’m kind.

Today I’m sick. I have been since Sunday evening. I’ve only got a rotten cold, but I feel crappy. Add to that that a chronic grumbly belly that I finally went to the docs about and returned with three different tablets. I feel horrid.

Today in Bangkok it’s hot. It’s always hot in Bangkok and most days I need air con in my office. Today I need it, but it’s also too cold all at the same time so I am wearing a moth holey cashmere jumper that was so expensive (despite being a sale item) I refuse to get rid of it (Can you see the holes from there? No, well I’m not offending anyone then.) I am – and this is a first in Thailand even for me – wearing sheepskin slippers that I bought in the UK. They are delicious; comforting and like eating chocolate.

That’s how I know I’m sick. So why, if I know I am sick, am I being so horrible to myself?

I must be nicer to myself.

When I am well again I will decide if I can’t write for toffee; if I am going to give up trying to write a book. Not yet.