So I told who needed to be told, and drove very slowly home. Got home, took my shoes off and went straight to bed still dressed. And I woke up four hours later. Finally made it to the chemist and got some ginger tablets which should help, but I swear, if I have to answer the question “Do you think you might be pregnant?” one more time I may very well scream until I lose consciousness. Yes, I am woman (hear me roar) and yes I’m feeling a bit sickly, but to murder a cliché two swallows does not make a baby. And then there’s the “Are you sure?” follow up. Fairly fricking sure; I’ve got my period as we speak, and I haven’t had sex in over 9 months (okay, in a few years). So unless I see a burning bush in the next three days I’m more certain of that than anything else I am.
Did you know (and I’m guessing you wouldn’t) that the last time I had two days off work for sickness it was because I’d been in a car accident? I don’t get sick. Which in one way is good, as the folks at work know that if I’m not there than I’m probably crook as a dog (let’s not remember how last year I took my first sickie ever), but it’s bad, ‘cause I don’t know how to be sick. I’m not a good sick person.
My goodess, looking back on this I'm guessing there's not enough chesse in the hemisphere to go with this whine. I’m tired of feeling like poo. The next thing I write in this is going to be a list of things that make me happy, sorta like that Ten Things That Make Me Innately Happy that was going around a while back.
I promise - only happy thoughts next time.