Well I lurched through the OFSTED inspection and managed to escape without getting observed teaching.
Also Bman was much more sympathetic to my ‘Eddie the Eagle’ down the stairs on the cat when he realized how much I had actually hurt myself.
Lovely end to a worrying and painful week by heading all the way to Essex for a curry on Friday night with some old muckers. This mostly involved the most unsmiley wait staff in the world, a veggie jalfrezi and a cider. Followed by a steady descent into drunkenness via gin & tequila shots & getting a free round in a bar after flashing an unflattering photo of my cleavage.
Also discovered vanilla vodka doesn’t mix well with orange juice and that my little friend, who protested so strongly at the wrongness of Cards Against Humanity, still managed to win (despite not realizing us girls had been cheating).
This week however, the mood has taken an unfortunate turn. Tuesday afternoon I came close to breaking point and almost saying out loud the things that often run around my head. Tears in the staffroom were shed and profanities exclaimed. I was bundled into the car and taken home by my friend and I have not been back into work since.
I dragged myself to the Walk In(g Dead) Clinic after not being able to actually book an appointment online as per. I unloaded on the very sympathetic scouse doctor (but not that much that she had to press a panic button under her desk to send for the men in white coats and the special jacket with buckles on the long sleeves). She said I needed a mental and physical rest, was quite likely to be bi-polar (shock horror) and then signed me off work for a month. A MONTH!!
I was shocked.
Told her I didn’t want to go down the happy tabs route. She said to stick to the things I do that make me feel better and that should be enough.
Who am I to argue with a trained medical professional?