This week I have had a bit of a quiet melt down. I’ve been feeling exhausted, extremely anxious, claustrophobic and unable to deal with anything that requires me to string two thoughts together. I assigned these symptoms to the hormonal fluctuations of the basta.d perimenopause and waited for them to pass. They didn’t……So with even more rising panic I made a call to the doc.
I don’t go to the doctor’s very often, preferring to self diagnose myself with cancer and other terminal diseases on Google. It’s a win win- you don’t have to wait on hold for 45 minutes listening to terrible keyboard music and some calm son of a b.tch telling you you’re number 25 in the queue or indeed divulge your symptoms to some nosey pants bossy receptionist. What the hell???? Whose horrible idea was that? I do NOT want to spill my personal problems to Sheila from No 65. It’s none of her blinkin business…….
The doc was no better either. She was clearly in a rush and wanted no more to engage with me and my hormones than I with the receptionist. I don’t think she looked at me once, probably a good thing as I was looking really, really rough……. with a brisk manner she enquired about my periods, how much exercise I did (obviously caught sight of my six pack/six rolls) and seemed particularly interested in whether I suffered with vaginal dryness or not????? Damn that dessication again…….
She advised there was nothing to do as she did not believe me to be in the menopause but sent me off with numerous printed sheets about said menopause, the one that she said I wasn’t in, and a ticket for a blood test. I felt deflated and quite lost as I flipped the receptionist the bird (not really) and left the surgery. I have to admit to a couple of “poor me” tears as I crossed the car park back to my illegally parked car.
Poor me tears are a dangerous game and I hurriedly kicked my dry ass. What had I been looking for I asked myself? Why did I expect an overworked doctor to sort it all out in ten mins? If this is just the perimenopause then I need to make some changes myself. I can’t go around with an epileptic hamster in my chest every day, screaming at the children when they are just engaging in completely normal behaviour- desperately trying to inflict serious harm on each other at every opportunity. In hindsight I have been working like a young sprightly thing and doing what my mother always advised against, well that and staring………..
I have been burning the candle at both ends and after having a flat out weekend, I then embarked on a even crazier week. I think that I just need to roll over Beethoven and accept that I simply can’t blaze a trail anymore. So what if it doesn’t get done. I am an old, balding bird no longer full of youthful stamina. If I do too much I get in an emotional pickle. I need to set realistic goals, slow down and eat the chocolate cake….sh.t…………. I’m f .cked…..
This is one of those cakes, those moments, when life should stop and time stand still, if not for the sake of my sanity then definitely for the sake of this cake…..A slice of this damp (a rarity these days) and deeply chocolatey cake with a cup of tea and some silence is tantamount to a spa treatment in itself. Pass me the robe and slippers.
I have linked this post with CookBlogShare and GreatBritishBloggersBakeOff.