There is a fiver on my desk and I have no idea of where it came. This shall bother me mildly for most of today.
So, MONTHS ago, I was happily going about my business at my gym when I hitched my back wrong. I babied it a few days and then realized I pay for medical insurance for a reason and wandered over to my GP. Thus began the giant CLUSTERFUCK of appointments and doctors only to get “Well, we think it is psychosomatic” as a diagnosis. I have previously written about being put off because I am a depressive and I do take drugs to assist with that, so I won’t rant about that now. However, I did get a scrip for a muscle relaxer and a prescription strength ibuprofen.
And all was (mildly) well. I felt a bit better after a while, I was doing the back strengthening exercises I got from my psychiatrist (yeah, he was far more helpful than the GP), and everything seemed to be improving.
Friday I fell in my office. Took one step, then helllloooo vertigo! My office mate shouted at me through the conjoining door, but couldn’t do anything because he has a shattered foot. Our accounting office is now staffed with an equal number of injured and non-injured personnel. Brilliant.
So, I am doing everything gingerly and RIGHT BACK to the amount of pain that originally took me to the doctor. Also, when you tell someone you broke your bum, even if that someone has made wedding vows in your general direction, they will do nothing but giggle.
Alright, I have whinged on long enough.
Now what the hell is this money for?
Also, please enjoy this rather adorable graphic I made of me holding a giant mustache. And, please, allow me to say I have no idea why mustaches are “in” now!!! Someone explain it to me. Use small words.