I've been sick lately... for a long time. I dont feel like doing anything. Dont feel like writing much. Dont feel like working, and have made myself go into the garden and get some stuff done, which is finally making me feel better. It looks pretty.
Finally gave in and went to the doctor 2 weeks ago, who said I have a systemic infection (ears, lungs, digestive tract, throat, sinuses....Eew); put me on antibiotics (which I loathe, but hey, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do) after my not-flu flu went insane and tried to kill me. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but seriously folks, 8 weeks is just too much. I got things under control just before the bronchitis turned into pneumonia, and was ordered off work for 5 days. The silver lining. I got to sit around and watch soaps whilst I ate metaphoric bon-bons. I slept a lot. Doctor's orders. Who am I to argue with a diagnosis of, "You've been pushing too hard and not taking care of yourself, you nit-wit, and now you have to sit on your arse and be good to yourslf with rest".
Seriously, Dr. Wonderful would never say that. He's the soul of compassion and thoroughness with just the right amount of information (a lot without actually pontificating in latin), and frankly, I adore him.
Meanwhile, I am on the horns of a dilemma. Back at work now, I'm finding my Spirits somewhat dampened by the constant sick and tired, I'm faced with making shite pay for retail slave labour, and alternatively, pushing like crazy at the plumb job I have with faux finishing, which wont be endless, so, in other words, I have a decision to make. Do I splash out and cut my hours at the retail facory and try to beat the bushes and drum up more work which actually respects my skills and pays me for them, or do I stay safe, and make crap pay, trying to do BOTH and thereby exhaust myself? Seems like a no-brainer, right? Not so easy....But I have to start thinking of me. I cant bloody afford to work there, truth be told. I got a small raise, but slave wages are still slave wages.
I feel guilty, isnt that silly? For being sick and letting things slide, so to make up for it I've been jumping back in with both feet every time I feel better, and working 6 to 7 days a week. No wonder I kept relapsing. Self inflicted wounds do not get a sympathy vote. Huh.
But here's the thing: I do not know how to say no. I worked an extra shift yesterday, when I was tired out and needed to rest, as a favour to a co-worker who was moving. Today I agreed to go to a dinner for another co-worker who is leaving. And I just dont wanna. I'm tired, dammit. I think I'll go to the company do, and then beg off for the drinks and dinner thing. I just dont have it in me.
What I need is a holiday. Its been about 7 years since I had one. I'm bone weary, and feel like I have CFS again.
Pah! If you dont have anything nice to say, dont say anything at all... now you know why I havent been writing much lately. I hate sounding like a misery....
Count all the "dont's " and "haven't's " in this post. Disgusting! Little Miss negative.
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3 comments:
You must take care of yourself, in the end, noone else is going to do it. Ditto with happiness, you are in charge of that too. Learning to say No is a skill I constantly have to work on as well, but your body is telling you to make a change. You are more important than you give yourself credit for. Don't make me come up there and force you to take a vacation!
Oh don't be so down on yourself! You've been this sick! I'm glad you're taking antibiotics. They may well have saved your life. Old graveyards are full of young people. We are lucky things are different these days.
I don't know what to say about the work dilemna. It would be better to be independent and doing something you enjoy . . . for sure.
Thanks for your comments on my blog. The DP is doing better, but the funding he may run out of is to pay me, not him.
A little more on your comment "I don't know how you do it". I am pathologically tolerant, and have a terrible time saying "no". I appreciate J's sensitivity and caring and wonder why he, and our country, is so encrusted with a need for weapons. Really I think its just the South maybe because they fear blacks, and the West because of a fear of Indians, Blacks, Mexicans, Yankees and any non-Yankee liberals that might have leaked over the State line. J does not feel comfortable without a gun, yet shooting cardboard saddens him. That's quite a strange inner life.
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