God, what a day. Another of those ones where I've felt extremely fragile and wondered why the hell when you interact with people face-to-face, they always have to come with knives. Is it just me or is everyone getting pricklier these days? Great title for my next book, eh ...
Anyway, I'd had way too much of people in all shapes and sizes last night so emailed the Counselling Centre to cancel my appointment with Kunu today (the phone being far too scary to contemplate and me feeling far too depressed to talk - which is probably like tidying up for your cleaner, but there you go ...) and wrote a letter to Gladys explaining why I haven't popped into see her in two weeks (sick) and why I won't pop in next week (hols).
Simple enough, you would have thought - though I know that with the postal strike, Gladys probably won't get her letter for weeks anyway - but no: this morning, Kunu left a message on my ansaphone wondering where I was, which really stressed me out. I just didn't want to have to deal with all the social crap of it really. So I deleted the message and sent another apologetic email back. Hell, I'm doing my bloody best over here in the stressed corner - why can't people cut me some slack once in a while?? This resulted in a distinctly sniffy email from the Counselling Centre receptionist telling me I really should have phoned as they don't look at emails regularly and they're often deleted by their scam software anyway. Well, slap my thigh and call me a luddite, but that's not my fucking problem. That's their problem for not having decent customer service or a good email provider. Bloody well let them sort it out and stop bitching at me then. Honestly! I doubt I'll be attending any more appointments this side of the next millennium. At least not there.
For the rest of this morning, I've struggled away with The Bones of Summer, attempting to squeeze out a few more words, but really it's been a bloody hard slog. Thank God for online Solitaire is what I say. Lord alone knows what Craig is going to do now. He's all over the place. Well, snap then. Thankfully though, I took time out at lunchtime to watch the utterly wonderful "Loose Women" on TV. That show is a real lifeline sometimes - it actually made me laugh. Hurrah. I do love it. I then caught up with my video of last night's "Will & Grace", but that just made me cry. All that stuff about Will's dead father and Karen leaving Stan - I was blubbing like a child on the sofa. Which isn't easy to do when you're trying to eat rice & tinned fish with a fork, I can tell you.
Anyway, I psyched myself up for going to see the new doctor at 4.10pm - who turned out to be Dr Pidgeon and the prissiest schoolgirl type you could ever imagine. In the words and intonation of Catherine Tate - What a bitch!! I'd written a list of things I'd wanted sorted - only 6 of them and mostly quick to deal with, for God's sake - but she got very sniffy when I sat down and told me I'd have to hurry up as the appointments were only 10 minutes long. She then proceeded to tell me that (a) No, I couldn't have my usual flu jab as she didn't see the point of it (I've had one for the last 2/3 years and they do help ...); (b) No, I couldn't have anything stronger for my catarrh/sickness problems as the stuff I'm currently on is fine and anyway I should try to cut down. Well bloody hell, madam, you try and see if it's "fine" when you're up all night trying not to be sick and hardly able to breathe and then feel like shit for two weeks - see if you like it; (c) No, she didn't have any advice on whether or not I should be taking more of the Vitamin B pills the previous doctor had put me on for depression as it was really up to me; and (d) No, she didn't see the point of sending me for a "how are your hormones and while we're at it are you approaching the pre-menopausal state?" test, in spite of the fact that the two weeks before my period has become almost utterly unbearable now with bouts of utter rage interspersed prettily with bouts of weeping. Hey ho, what fun we have here in downtown Godalming!... Instead she suggested Evening Primrose Oil and frankly by then I couldn't be arsed to tell the snotty-nosed bitch that yes I've tried all the stuff and, no, it doesn't help much.
The only good thing to come out of it is that my blood pressure is fine (a fact which astonished me, as I was almost incandescent with suppressed rage by the time she took it!!) and that I only took up 4 minutes of her bloody precious time. And there's one slapper I won't be making another appointment with again. Really, I was quite weepy in the car home - always a danger when attempting to drive through Godalming, but I don't think I actually killed anyone ...
At home, I've emailed Steph in the University Health Centre asking if she can suggest helpful nice and loving people to discuss flu jabs and hormones with me. Here's hoping, eh. But God only knows what I'm going to do when the next of my all-night bouts comes round. In the meantime, I'm battening down the ruddy hatches, uncorking the sherry bottle again and anticipating an evening of sudokus and TV. And more calming pills.
Today's nice things:
1. Loose Women
2. Getting out of bloody Dr P's consulting room
3. Calming pills.