6:32am Sunday morning.
I am about to get my weary arse out of bed to catch the train to see my friend and her baby in Devon.
I have a choice of two outfits. A nice sensible pair of blue jeans with my speckled blue v-neck.
The burgundy mini skirt I was going to return because it’s just too small.
With my v-neck, black leggings and oversized cardigan.
For some reason (mainly because I’m a sad, deluded, also-slightly-podgy singleton), I am favouring the skirt.
I’ll see how slimline I look post bath.
My week, while mildly aggravating at some points, wasn’t actually too bad.
I got paid, felt like a successful career woman for all of about two days, before returning to that chronic awareness of being both poor and unsuccessful, once bills were paid.
Work has been quite satisfying this week. I changed up my morning routine which changed everything.
Having a bath pretty much as soon as I wake up and not fannying around in bed with a coffee, scrolling Twitter for the validation that’s never there and putting off real life, is ironically quite life-affirming.
During the week only of course. The weekends are mine to do with whatever I choose.
There was also a point this past week at work, where I was convinced I was being sacked or there alike.
While having lunch with my Manager in the office, she told me to close the door.
She’s only ever told me to close the door during performance reviews, and I had this mixture of dread and brimming freedom wash over me at the thought of a possible firing.
I stared at her waiting to hear the words, my eyes wild no doubt, like a feral deer.
“Would you like to be the assistant manager?” she asked instead of sacking me.
To this day I’m not sure if it was out of relief or sheer horror.
This is something that I had brought up with management a few months ago, while she was away and while they thought it was a good idea, they wanted to wait until she was back to consider it.
I mean, I am the queen of under-selling myself and that’s exactly what I did here, but my manager knows me and reassured me. So I’m going to become assistant manager on a 3 month trial.
I am excited, but a little apprehensive. Hopefully it will be well received with the others and we can carry on as normal. I certainly don’t have any plans to start bossing anyone about or cause friction.
I am a bit of a control freak but I try to hold back at work.
Don’t want to be the hated bitch-face employee of the year, now do I?
There’s a meeting coming up at the end of this week in town coming with all the assistant managers in the area, so I’m going to have to scratch up on a crap-ton of info before then so I at least sound like I know what I’m doing.
Also, on Wednesday, I have an appointment at hospital to see an CFS/ME specialist.
Which I’m dreading.
I’ve filled in this assessment form I was sent, which looks more like the government white papers, and is very condescending. I’ve refused to fill in one of the pages because of the tone of the questions asked.
If ME specialists don’t think it’s a psychological illness, why in God’s name are questions asked relating to how you “see” your fatigue and treated with cognitive behavioural therapy?
I’m very sceptical that anything new or good will come of this, but at least I’m getting the opportunity.
This week gone has actually been very bad for pain, so I guess the timing is handy.
Anyway, I’d better dash.
Go and make myself look mildly presentable for my trip.
Maybe the train conductor will be cute.
I doubt it.