Tuesday, 6 March 2012

It's just another one of those days

You know the ones. 

You're too tired to be a good Mummy in the morning, to play with the kids before you have to leave for work, to even be dressed before you should be. 

You're too sluggish to manage anything other than dragging yourself into clothes and heading off with a cup of tea that someone else has made for you. 

You beg your husband to drop the kids at their childcare so you have less responsibility because you're just not quite up to it.

You're glad the phone hardly rings at work because it's like everyone is speaking another language to you, and you're sure they can all see that you're not up to par, and it makes you panic.

You know your work is substandard but don't know how to fix the things you can see are wrong.

You aren't quite sure what time it is or if you're meant to be somewhere else all day.

You get home late because you can't remember how to get there and when you do you can't remember what you're meant to do.

You're too tired to be a good Mummy to the children who are desperate for your attention in the evening, and you can't play with them or even read to them because you can't make the words make sense.

You have three freelance jobs you're behind on and can't even open the file they're in because you already know you can't do them tonight. 

It's late and you're already too tired and you can't stop berating yourself for failing at everything and go to fucking sleep.

This is that day. This is that night. I'm so tired it's an effort to breathe in and out, and I know I need to sleep so that I do better for the children and at work tomorrow - and I'm already eating into the time I should be sleeping by letting my mind go into panic mode, telling myself all the ways I'm getting it wrong.

I'm getting it all wrong. 

Monday, 5 March 2012

Back to life

Back to reality?

If you've followed my sporadic contact on twitter between massive, sweaty sleeping sessions you'll know that I've been knocked flat recently with the dreaded flu.

Many times before I've thought I had flu - and I've actually had a nasty cold. Flu is different. Real, actual flu is so different

My real, live actual flu completely flattened me for two weeks - I felt rough on the Monday, but went to work and did ok. I went in on the Tuesday and just about managed to get home before needing to go right to bed. For the rest of that week I called in sick. I say I called, what I actually did was text in sick because I totally lost my voice - which was a bit of a relief for my husband I'm sure because he couldn't hear me whimpering "please bring tea and paracetamol" every thirty seven seconds from our bed! 

Over the weekend I did the same as I'd been doing for days previously and slept in my bed in a sweaty, shivering heap but thought by Sunday evening that I needed to get right back to work on Monday - so I dragged myself up and into the shower and headed to work. By lunch time I was ordered back home and told I wasn't allowed back until I felt PROPERLY better.

On the Tuesday my temperature had shot back up and I called the GP for some help - predictably they just said "Go back to bed, drink more, take paracetamol and sleep until it's gone". So I did.

Ugh. Flu is horrible.

By the end of the week I was so revolting I think I might have rotted the bed if I hadn't dragged myself into the bath. 

There I discovered that a week of failing to wash, or even brush, ones hair leads to many problems. Namely a total inability to actually brush ones hair. Which leads to cutting manky hair bobbles out and clammy emergency trips to the hairdresser (who is thrilled to finally be allowed to cut seven inches off my straw hair and make me look like a human) followed by a nap with a snotty baby. 

Today was my first day back at work. I made it through, and even managed to do work, but was pretty incoherent and/or massively grumpy and snappy all day. My poor workmates. I really must learn to just SHUT UP when I have opinions on things and am already too tired to function normally. Sorry all! 

And now it's 8pm, and I'm shaking with the effort of staying upright - so I'm going back to bed. Which has clean sheets on. Phew!