Tired and Emotional...

Here we go again. Spent all my morning and most of the afternoon down the beloved Central Middlesex Hospital. They never fail to see me at least one and a half hours later than my appointment, only to tell me nothing new. This time the doctor wrote me a prescription, and sent me to the pharmacy to wait another half hour. My only comfort at this point was that I wouldn’t have to pay for these particular pills. Except that after a couple of questions from the pharmacist, money was indeed asked for. “Er what??” says I. The lady explains that as they are not being prescribed for their primary purpose, I have to pay the full charge. “Okay” says I (rather indignantly) “If I tell you that they are also for contraception do I still have to pay??” Anyway I leave the darned place not so much rueing the £6.85 now missing from my purse but rather the indignity. Yes my life is as barren as the Sahara, but does it have to be rubbed in my face, by taxing me for the double whammy of being ill and without sex. Thank you very much world!

Then arrive at work and find that some kind of tsunami has swept a hundred patient files into it, and all over my desk and into huge piles, for good measure. And there I am feeling subhuman, and I have precisely three hours left in the day to do three days worth of work. What follows involves swearing and cursing and wanting to weep in public. And all this knowing that I have a close friend in serious need of a place to lean, so I spend several hours after work not winding down but listening to someone’s true heartbreak, only interrupted by a text (sent accidentally it seems) from Mr and Mrs Pedro. They’ve crashed their van in France, not just crashed it but rolled it over, and ended up in hospital. And the worst thing is, all I can think is: Pedro’s not going to be back in work tomorrow, how the fuck can I manage all his work?? It seems from what little information I can glean, that there are no serious injuries, but it (and my reaction to it) is still pretty shitty.

And now back home, I am mulling over all sorts of things. I watched the Great Gatsby yesterday; possibly my favourite ever novel, and this adaptation (with Toby Stephens) possibly the best of the three so far made… but it’s not exactly the most uplifting of tales is it? The characters are full of longing, but too clumsy and too careless, to ever achieve what they wish for. Foe sent me an email today, rather out of the blue, and made me feel very careless indeed. There’s nothing like a few truisms to bring out the maudlin in me. Monky called me “bloody” and “stubborn” a few weeks ago. I can’t decide whether it’s a point of pride, or a chronic flaw. But I do know that when I’m feeling vulnerable I get mighty prickly. Today is a mighty prickly day. Today I feel ever so ever so prickly indeed.