The day the panic descended

One of my clients today asked me to rate my mental health/anxiety levels out of 10 – one being the most rubbishy of rubbishy of rubbishy. And 10 being “I’m flying high right now.”

My natural sarcastic, miserable nature means I will never succumb to the orgasmic nature of a 10. Unless there is copious amounts of alcohol involved.

But today, like an excited old lady sat at a bingo table with a full house – I called out “I’m a nine”

Surprised myself actually.

Because in the last week I have had more work cancelled than Aldi has sold loo rolls.  I have ran out of milk, twice.   Had a non insured cat diagnosed with a large cancerous tumour, and the dog has gone into fecking season.

Then to top it off, school got canceled – and unless I am prepared to purchase a fake nurses uniform and style it out at the school gate as I drop them off and head to my imaginary job – my three little feckers are staying home.

Two of them aren’t even little – they are hormonal, hair sprouting teens whose emotions are like riding the Pepsi Max at the Pleasure Beach hourly.  They are taller than me, louder than me, and quite frankly – not always the best house mates.

I’ve had to turn Facebook off – not to avoid the constant stream of Corona Virus, Janet’s opinion of how we are all fecked, and Karen’s frigging look on the bright side posts about how we will all appreciate a handshake when this is over (I won’t!  I have avoided touching folk for years…)  But I have had to switch it off because after Boris’s chat yesterday at pm, full on panic descended, with the influx of home crafting projects.

Kids off school – my plan was to self isolate in my room, hope they clean stuff and let them play X box and watch tele.

But no – would appear every other mother is devising home education projects, talking about crafting and saying how lovely it will be to play board games with their off spring.

Last time we played Monopoly, the bank manager was physically assaulted and a demolition crew took out all the houses.

But still folks – I am a 9.

Because, fuck it, we are all in the same boat – it may have HMS Titanic written on the side, but we are all in it.

And although Karen on Facebook is hugely annoying, she is also right – its time to crack on and pull together.

So I am happy I’m not the twat who has 100 loo rolls, 64 boxes of Calpol and all the pasta – and the reason George on Facebooks Grandad can’t go to the loo anymore as he ain’t got a strip to wipe with.

I’m happy that I am connecting with my mates a bit more, and appreciating that I have a warm house and some food in the fridge (no fecking Spag Bol tho!)

I have no idea how this story ends, so I am going day by day, I’ll moan and grunt like the rest of us, but worry?  There is no point – I cannot control. nor can I influence, but I can be a 9.

So I am staying that way.

 

Much love all (except for you crafters – stay off line – you make us uncreative morons feel bad)