Egbok. Even when it doesn’t seem like it.

Vrrrrrrrr – that is the sound of me rewinding this day and starting it over or just erasing it completely. Someone get me that universal remote thing from the movie I never saw. Oooh – or Hermione Granger’s egg timer. Yeah, one of those. Barring that just knock me on the head and give me a day’s worth of retrograde amnesia a la Days of our Lives.

Okay, so it’s just been one of those days. I went back to hospital this morning for a follow-up from my emergency room visit last week. Apparently the stomach pain was a side effect from the back operation and all my insides getting messed around. The cyst they found has doubled in size since last week and is now haemorrhaging hence the continual pain. Now I have to face my worst doctor ever… the gynae. Just the word makes me shiver.

I limped dejectedly back to the car to find it afloat in a sea of oil. Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration but it seemed sweet Bella has sympathetic symptoms and is haemorrhaging oil. At least I think that disgusting brown ooze is oil. I was told to stay put and await rescue. Thankful for Bella’s roomy interior I curled up for a nap, which was promptly interrupted by my colleague having a badly timed meltdown. Understandable? Absolutely. Could I do anything about it? No.

By now of course I have got to the office sorted out his hysteria and am contemplating a cup of hot sweet tea before calling the dreaded gynae. It’s so long since I saw her I have no idea if she still exists and I am not going back to the one who delivered me 34 odd years ago and has a gammy eye that stares eerily at you.

That however is not the end of this list of woes. My beloved eldest son has been diagnosed with dyslexia. I wish I could leave my job and fetch him from school and help him everyday, but I have to pay off crippling medical bills. I don’t know want to do. Should I take him out of his high-pressured academic school and send him to a school designed to help and empower him? Is his schopl the right choice for him or me? Am I forcing him to live up to his parents’ legacy instead of treating him as a special and unique individual who might grow so much stronger in another environment? And where is another environment? If I do send him to another school would he live through life with the stigma of a remedial school? Would it matter if it made him stronger, happier and more equipped to handle the world? And whose stigma is it anyway? And do they even matter? By the time he graduates no-one will give a damn and it’s not like every matriculant from a private school goes on to guaranteed success – some end up second hand car salesmen. My heart just bleeds for him and I want to make it easier for him. Any ideas?

The weather mirrors my narcissistic selfish state of mind. I want to wallow like a hippo in a warm bath of mud. Now that I’ve vented into the abyss of cyberspace I feel slightly better although I’d rather go home, have a hot bath and sleep then face the rest of this day. I lie. I want to rush over to school pick my son; hold him close and take him to school that will appreciate him.

I think I’ve had my quote of bad things today. can you send over some good ones to balance it out? Like a lottery win of a million dollars?

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