I have been unwell and off work. For weeks. Almost three weeks (and counting) I still am rough as a badger's handbag, truth be told - but nausea, lethargy and its bowelly friend squitteriness are not reasons to stay off work now that the actual anti-social spewing has stopped, apparently- and it only lasted a fortnight or so. Pah, hardly ill at all! (God they make youthworkers tough these days...)
Bizarrely, having upchucked and squittered for this painfully (aloe vera bog roll? soothing? don't make me laugh...) long amount of time, I have managed to put on weight. I am perplexed- and more than a bit pissed off. The "as bloaty as a corpse pulled out of the Water of Leith" look is not one that works for me... And it would seem bulimia is never going to be an option for me either. Double pah.
Typically, doctors have been a bit useless. I thought one of them was prescribing me expensive champagne, but I misheard - it was Domperidone I was supposed to take before eating. Still, cheaper and actually pleasant tasting (unlike champagne - or am I the only person in the world who thinks that champagne makes your mouth taste like Satan's anus 30 minutes after drinking it?) and it works, up to a point.
You know you are really feeling poorly when even the thought of watching Jeremy Kyle makes you cry and hide (as opposed to when you are well when it makes you want to shout, "Shut up you tedious wankstain on the sheets of society!"): I didn't once feel strong enough to watch so much as the titles while I was off. Actually, the thought of it is making me weepy now...
Theo made me her magic risotto (known to cure all known ills- and delicious, too) and I've rallied a bit, but I'm still feeling crappy - if risotto hasn't been able to fix me, then god knows what will... Let's hope it's laser printer toner, badly washed cups of tea, phones ringing at inopportune moments, really badly designed chairs, pressured deadlines and yampy clients that make me feel better, eh?
