Quick dial the looney farm

Sooooo just when I thought I was doing so well it all starts to fall apart – and it only took a few simple words for all the wool to unravel (yes by wool I mean my brain!!!) Someone at work just happened to mention that I had not updated an address, therefore someone hadn’t received a letter they were waiting for and all the pieces fell apart not unlike one precariously balanced domino falling over and then 1000 of others following in its wake. Yes, I have officially lost the plot and now I am off work until I can recover it. A very dear friend used the analogy of bungee jumping to me which makes sooo much sense. The first time you bungee jump you are scared stiff of the unknown, but the second time you do it you are scared stiff of what you know is about to happen – I suppose that is how I feel except it is the third time and I have so much to compare it too. Yes I am scared, scared of being sick, scared of being crazy and mostly scared of this all being for nothing! So the address is mentioned next thing I know my head is going “you are useless at work” “you are useless at making babies” “you are just USELESS” and I could no longer handle it all. I run to my boss, said I was feeling unwell all the while sobbing, run out of work at top speed, made it to the street started running down the street sobbing my heart out, snot and dribble everywhere not unlike a St Bernard when they shake their big head and there is all sorts of wet matter over everything. By this time I am no longer functioning properly, thinking rationally or even breathing very well come to think of it. I desert my car which is parked behind work (could of got it, but that would mean speaking to someone as I was blocked in) . . . so where was I, oh yes running down the street I get to a zebra crossing, a bus has stopped to let the mess that is me pass, I run around to the door still sobbing the driver lets me on – only for me to discover my purse is empty I have NO money. He takes pity on me and tells me just to go and sit down (personally I feel he was slightly concerned that I might get snot all over him!!) I sit down and then suddenly realise I have no idea what bus I am on or even where it is going. So what does every girl do in a crisis – yip they call in a superhero. So I call L sobbing my heart out, I'm unable to get words out he manages to calm me down a little, well, enough to ask me what I can see so he can get some idea of where I am, then asks me the next street name I can see. Tells me to get off the bus as he is coming to get me (and no unfortunately he did not fly in with undies over his trousers, if he had that REALLY would have made me smile) – so I get off the bus sit on the grass where the bus has left me still sobbing and wait for him. When L finally gets to me he laughs at the snot and makeup everywhere gives me a cuddle wipes the tears away and once again the world is a rosy place, my superhero has saved the day. Ahhhhh hormones aye who needs them!! So it is decided I need a little bit of time off work just because I’m not coping so well. Anyway this is all happening because of the injections I have started, they are really screwing with me, all side effects completely normal the nurses inform me, I am following all the normal predicted patterns; NO I am not the only looney tune on the block these drugs are mood altering and NOT in any good sort of way. Mmmmmm now I understand why they advise you to take time off from work over this period, but hey not me because I can cope with anything NOT!!! Besides the emotional side effects are the physical ones, one minute I am freezing cold and in bed with the blanket on next minute I’m so hot I have sweat running down between my (.)(.) I feel like there is a little man in my head with a sledgehammer, one minute I am laughing and the next I am crying and to compound it all I have no idea what is going on, I am completely spaced out half the time. Lee keeps going "what are you doing", and do you know what I have absolutely no idea. I forget what I am about to say I forget what I am about to write I forget . . . . . . . .