This week has been an odd one, I've been struggling with a reoccurred of my back problem (got not one but two house calls, which was moderately exciting). It seems that this may continue until Dragon arrives, apparently my entire lumbar and pelvic regions were held together by nothing more than fairy dust and happy thoughts, so all these hormones are wreaking havoc.
It's really starting to frustrate me, which is a little unexpected. I never thought of myself as particularly active, but I've not broken a sweat properly since I gave up circuits in February (cold sweats brought on by fainting fits are not being counted) and it's making me a bit grumpy. Add that to professional pride (who knew, a Pilates instructor who has to sing the praises of her pregnancy Pilates class with the proviso that she might not be able to do all the exercises..) and the lingering fear that I've gained too much weight already and the me bit of the Dragon breeding is a bit less than thrilling.*
But I have happy drugs now, and I'm using my week off work (through an unrelated injury to the person I temp for) to get a head start on some sewing.
*The Dragon bit, is of course, really neat. There's a real thing in there with the head and arms in the right place and ribs and everything. Who knew that untrained, sweated labour could produce something that complicated!
New car is called Elkie... and here's the longwinded reason:
It's a Honda and in the UK the Honda adverts were voiced by Garrison Keillor, who does A Prairie Home Companion on the radio in the States. So A said we should call her after someone in the radio programme. Now the sound effects guy (Tom Keith) did a really funny sketch about how to tell the difference between a moose moo and an elk moo which went on for about 10 minutes (can't find a clip on the web...boo).
We've had a little moose as a car mascot for years now (called Moosie) and so the joke is if you can't tell the difference between a Moosie and an Elkie, you've got problems!
I tried to get a physio referral from my GP the other day, the receptionists are so frustrating. They say 'Is it an emergency?' every time, and I try to explain that if it was an emergency I would have phoned an ambulance, but since it is a not an emergency I have phoned my GP.
So after phoning two days in a row and discovering that my message had not been passed on to the GP, I got a bit snippy and said I'd phone someone who would do something about it.
...and they did. I have a shiney physio appointment in two weeks!
I had a hospital appointment yesterday about the funny rash I'd been getting. As far as I knew they had come to the conclusion that they didn't know what it was but they didn't think it was important.
Then before Christmas I got a letter saying that the appointment had been rescheduled. Since I didn't think I needed it, I phoned up to see if there was any point in my going. This took until the middle of January to resolve, with various phone calls and to-ings and fro-ings, but the lady I spoke to said they were going to do more tests, so I should turn up.
Now the trip was one of those disaster ones where you think you know where you're going (and I did look it up on Google Maps before I went), but I lost my nerve and was late and stressed about it all. Then it turns out that the clinic is in two different places depending on what day you're coming on, and I went to the wrong one. So by the time I made it to the right place, I was about 20 minutes late and a bit frazzled.
So I was seen by the consultant only to be read the contents of the letter that I've now been sent twice and told there's nothing more they could do.
Foolishly they gave me a questionnaire to complete before my appointment, so I scrawled a little rant on the back about communication.
I got my invitation to take up British citizenship this morning, all that's left is to go to a ceremony and swear allegiance to Queen and country and then that's me.
I'm feeling distinctly un-festive and motivated...
Christmas and New Year were ok, entire family was stricken by Plague from Nephews, which combined with the fact that I don't deal well with family groups of larger than 4 meant that I was a bit m'eh about the whole thing.
I have far, far too much to do, but in way where the to do list spirals endlessly into the future with no real reward at the end of it. Welcome to self-employment.
LYM and I spoke to the same person at the tax office consecutively and were told that it would take 7 days (LYM) and 6 weeks (me) to get the same reference number. Which means that despite me being almost 3 weeks more organised than he was, I have to fill out my tax return and blindly hope that I get my number before it's due or else I'll have to file next year instead and lose the refund for all the stuff I bought this year.
The house is a state and doesn't seem likely to get any better soon, I failed to organise my fabric like I meant to over Christmas, and I've run out of fun Pilates stuff to do, like writing Killer Pilates on the mats and straps...
