Little man wakes up and is tired. Tired and not eating. Tired and not eating and not able to move from the couch. I take his temperature and he has 38.9 temp. Back to bed with him, working from home for me. My brother calls up from Kilkenny and delivers a huge amount of apples. I picture myself making apple pie and tarts in a pastel pinny. I can do this. I carry out my physio before bed, and wow I am in pain. Bed. Tomorrow I will be a model of efficiency, I promise.
Little man has a perfectly fine temperature, it’s as if the last day didn’t happen. We are all up, out and back to our usual routine without any problems. I get myself to work and get through everything by setting a timer against myself and just thrashing through it.
In the afternoon I have to attend a financial workshop that is attended by some of the great and the good of my esteemed workplace. We eventually discover that none of us understand anything about financial details, and that the creators of said workshop need to go back to the drawing board. I leave early to collect big guy, who has had a normal day. We go home and do his Maths homework, then dinner and bath for him. For some reason I open my laptop and play uninteresting computer games until ten thirty pm, then I have to get up and do chores and physio for another hour before bed. Why on earth do I do that to myself? I have physiotherapy tomorrow as well..
The morning goes well enough (up, dressed, school run, get through work). I have a lunch planned at 12 noon and I am in the cafe in good time. No one else is there, and when I check my emails I see no firm arrangement was made. Am I going mad? I was honestly certain it was on today. I head over to the physio session at 1 pm, and the only word for it is ‘Ow’.
The only way to get through it is to get through it. I make myself just remember how much I want to go running soon. There was one moment when Karl, the resident sadist, said ‘There’s a lot of soft tissue damage to your muscles, Claire.’ ‘Let’s be honest Karl, there’s really only soft tissue around there anyway.’ I don’t know if you’ve had anyone laugh while prodding you in embarrassing areas, but ooh, gosh, I can’t recommend it enough.
I realise when I go back to work that there is an exam meeting the next day at 9.30 am. This is another example of my foggy thinking, like my non-existing meeting at 12 noon. I put my head down and get through the five programme reports that have to be generated and reviewed, before fleeing to pick up beloved son at 3.30 pm. I am not panicking.
All is good with him at School, but in the car park we encounter a crazy lady. My car door touches her car door, and she. Freaks. Out. We’re talking hands on either side of her head, and she nearly starts screaming. ‘It’s a company car!’ she yells at me, and she insists on taking my insurance details. I raise a badly plucked eyebrow at all this. Normally I am Ms Empathy, but the field where I grow my fucks is all barren right now.
I’m all ‘there there’, and just get on with it. At one point I look down and her girl is looking up at me, looking as if I’ve kicked an elf. I get my kid into my car, and we head away. I look at her as I go and they are in their own car, staring at me.
That evening, the little guy opens his mouth over dinner and throws up everywhere. I wash him up and put him straight to bed, then go through the usual nighttime routine; Coffee, tidy up, wash the table, sweep the floor, make lunches for the next day, prepare breakfast, clothes out, shower, hit up MyFitnessPal and then journal my delightful day. My brain is more dead than Trump’s credibility.
I am up and ready for this wonderful day. I go through the old, rather than the new physio session. The early morning meeting that I was all worried about goes well, mainly because I am so good at hiding my sheer inability at coping with life. The un-arranged meeting from yesterday happens today, and it goes well too. I get through the rest of the small stuff in the afternoon but honestly my brain is on ‘Lint-Time’.
I pick up the big guy and there is no sign of crazy lady.
However. Over dinner I get an email saying that she is going to a recognised dealer to fix her car and to send her my address for the bill. I tell her, no, I am not paying for anything, I’m entitled to seek up to three quotes and she is to get a quote only. She tells me it has to be this dealer, but she’ll only get a quote if I insist. Yeah, I insist. I go to bed worried and don’t do my physio. Bold Claire.
Awake at 4am by the child, and I’m unable to get to sleep. I get all worried. But I am up at 6am and I get all of us up and out okay, the other half is okay for being woken so early. I get myself and big guy to school okay, no sign of crazy lady. I get to my work, and I get through things mainly because of coffee.
Exam results have to be confirmed and amended where needed. Done.
It’s the end of the financial year, and items have to be receipted and confirmed. Done.
Students want to call in and confirm their subject choices are all good and confirmed, done and done.
I pick up the big guy and we go home to practise the letter S for his handwriting. Then it is time for dinner and his bath. When I come down, everything is cleaned away and sparkin’, thanks me darling. I go to my grateful bed after physio, and with no emails delivering bad news.
Marched for repeal of the 8th, and I hope you did too.
Ate all around me, and got ready for the week. Still no emails demanding money. I am close to burning sage to warn off bad juju here. Pick up big guy and we did the letter S. Then dinner, coffee, all cleaned when I come down. Bed and sleep. No email. I come across this image on Facebook and start laughing hysterically. Me and my brain call it a night, and go to bed.