I've been told that it's a time-honoured Irish custom to take to one's bed when unhappy.
Cases are on record of people hitting the hay out of grief, or in protest, for years at a time.
It's an Interesting Idea.
To be sure, when I'm pooky
you'll find me in bed, like as not mending things.
I find it Enomously Comforting.
The good news is that I can see well enough now to actually sew, as long as I keep nice and still,
don't talk more than necessary and never, ever shake my head.
Which is a definite improvement on lying with my eyes closed and the lights out, completely unable to move,
Wishing to Christ I had a shotgun.
