I do think I talk a load of gobshite most of the time.
Endless, pointless ramblings.
I seem to have been sliding gently down.
As my Christmas bug has persisted in a low grade corrosive kind of way it seems to have gnawed away at me.
Sleep has become yet more elusive, if that were possible.
Even though I always have a bath and am warm enough I’ve taken to filling a hot water bottle and wrapping it in one of my husband’s T-shirts to see if that helps. It hasn’t.
My Friday work routine is changing a bit so on the day of my ‘Scream’ blip I took my opportunity to contact the surgery because I’m never usually able to get there.

I rather wished I hadn’t. I felt like I was wasting the docs time and he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Everything about his manner meant that I was more or less talking myself out before I’d sat down. I think I just wanted someone to take a bit of an interest, care a bit, see from my notes how long it’s been, feeling shit, and understand how hard it’s been and just acknowledge it, be kind, even perhaps say you’re doing okay, you know. It’s bloody tough but you’re doing okay and it’s alright to check in.
Instead, it was entirely alienating and I cried as soon as a left the room. Luckily there’s a side door they eject you from so I didn’t have to go through the waiting room.