Monday's are always the pits. Not just for me, for everyone I should imagine. Unless you start work on Tuesday, in which case you suck, but I imagine you hate Tuesdays!
Had a doctor's appointment this morning. Which is always 1 part entertaintaing, 12 gajillion parts frustrating as fuck. The whole reason we went is because I appear to be getting worse. I assure you, I am not making any of my pain up just to get meds (and if I were, surely after three years they would wake up and smell the fucking coffee - I could order meds from India that would be cheaper than the NHS, and I wouldn't have to have the same fucking conversation with my GP every 10 days!)
So we went in (I no longer go in and see the doctor without The Mentalist. What's the point in having a doberman if you just don't use it?) to see the young doctor first thing this morning. There is a supposed pain specialist at my surgery, but she has the compassion of a rock. No, worse than that. She has the compassion of a surgeon. As a result, I won't see her.
We went in, armed with a list of what has been getting worse, and where, and as per usual, they just don't listen. I told him that my headaches are getting worse along with my light sensitivity, my centre of gravity is non existant, my skin pain is almost unbearable, that I have been throwing up, and that I would like a sick note so I don't have to go into the office. So I ended up with tablets that should not be used if you have the sort of headache I have, and the advice to check out alternative medicine. So massage - which is grand if you have skin pain. It's just what you crave when your skin is hurting so bad you are tempted to slice it off yourself. Or the other great alternative for those in pain - accupuncture. Again, see my reasons why this is such a fucked up idea earlier.
And as for the sick note. In the UK we no longer get sick notes. We get notes stating what we are able to do. Which is just pathetic. So here I am. At work. Getting more and more stressed. Feeling more and more pain. And working out the best way to get the hell out of dodge!
Anyone up for a commune in Argentina, drop me a line. Don't worry, the only plan is to grow wine. So then we can all get drunk and forget about the bollocks that is real life.
Am sorry for being negative. Am sorry for being down. Am just in the midst of a pity party for one. And y'all are invited on the promise you bring booze. Or drugs. Or AK47s!
Tomorrow, my pretties, I will be happier. And if not, you can custard pie me - although that offer does not apply to The Mentalist or Tiggi.