Don’t you just hate calling in sick to work? I came home from work on Wednesday with a really bad headache and by Thursday morning it was a full blown migraine. My head was killing; I was dizzy, nauseous, seeing double and the usual morning routine of BBC breakfast proved to be too much – the glare of the TV causing me to burst into tears.
Even so, I still fretted about calling work. What is it about calling in sick that makes you feel instantly guilty? I felt too sick to put the light on and I could not stand the smell of cat food (poor Lily didn’t get fed until 11pm) so there was no way I would have been able to get the tube and then spend eight hours in front of a computer screen, but I still felt like a fraud.
The other thing I hate about calling in sick is that you can’t make the most of a free day off work… because you are too sick! I could have cleaned the flat, or done my writing but instead I had to lie in the bedroom with my eye mask on, drifting in and out of delirious dreams and waiting for the anti-migraine tablets to kick in.
You will all be relieved to hear by late afternoon I felt a little better.
My wife, a friend and I had tickets to the opera last night (“The Magic Flute” darling) and I decided to go, despite my illness. I still felt pretty sick but I had been looking forward to it and thought some nice classical music might be soothing.
I had been in charge of buying tickets and made sure I got an aisle seat, being the anxiety-prone claustrophobe that I am. My wife was next to me and our friend, a big lad of 6ft 4 was next to her.
Don’t you just hate really posh people? We had only been in our seats for a minute when we received a tap on the shoulder from the woman behind us.
“Excuse me” she said haughtily, “may I be terribly impertinent and suggest that you (points at me) switch places with you (points at our friend) as my view is being restricted?
Our friend, (who knows all about my neuroses bless him) answered with a polite, yet firm “no” while I gave her my special death stare.
I don’t know why she couldn’t have swapped places with her equally tall male friend.
We giggled at all the wrong moments and then our friend fell asleep, punctuating the Queen of the Night’s soprano with his gentle snores. By the interval we were well and truly enemies with the woman behind us, who whispered to her companion that we were “simply beastly”.
I still feel rather beastly today. My head is swimming and I feel ever so sick. Not sure if I mentioned it, but as well as being a claustrophobic, neurotic, panicker, I also suffer from hypochondria so I imagine I am coming down with some kind of brain tumour or aneurysm.
I don’t really have time to worry about such things as I am off to Ibiza for the weekend. My plane leaves in four hours…Wish me luck!