Well I made it into Binland yesterday morning..
Getting out of bed and dressing before lunchtime was in itself no small achievement, especially as I didn't have the rattling reassurance of a dozen steroids to take with my breakfast, but I made it in on time having dropped the two fur-balls off at the groomers. (This was very overdue, and I made the groomer promise to check he had the right end before he started plucking or clipping at anything - no one likes a schnauzer with a moustache at each end, do they?).
But it was great being back with my bin buddies again, and I opened up my email inbox to see what had been going on over Christmas...
In real terms, I had only been away for four days once you take Christmas out of the equation, so why I should have 108 emails to trawl through is anyone's guess. But trawl I did, and by the time I left work I'd managed to get it down to single figures. The morning wasn't without its snippets of interest though...
First of all, I had to have an 'interview' with Mr W (my young enough to be my son, boss) as to whether I was fit to return to work yesterday. To be honest with you, I'm not sure I was fit for anything before I got ill, so there was a small hesitation as to whether I should be there yesterday. 'I'm fine', I lied through my gritted teeth. (Half an hour into my morning, and it was becoming more and more apparent that I wasn't really firing on all cylinders...or any for that matter).
Mid morning, I took myself off for what us middle aged girls like to call a comfort break. Standing at the basin I looked in the mirror. Oh...so this explained the worried glances I'd been getting from the boys in the office as the morning had gone on. My cheeks looked like two sweating beef tomatoes and if you didn't know me better, you might have thought that I'd been for a quick trot around the block.
Now I wasn't hot, and I wasn't having a hottie (HRT, I love you) so could only put this down to my body's thermostat finally giving up the ghost. As the morning wore on, I went from magenta, to rose, to yellow, finally peaking around 2.00 with a complexion of gunmetal grey mixed with a little curdled milk.
Getting back home, I crawled into the lounge and promptly fell asleep for two hours. It would appear that getting better is almost as difficult as being ill. My head is saying, 'Yay! Let's go! We're better, we can do this!'
My body, on the other hand, has a completely different response.
One which is simply unprintable, but which may contain the word 'off'...