Dear one and all – I can sit here and type and confess that I have a problem. I do suffer from TMS and I am not ashamed to admit it. In fact, just having something quintessentially manly about me provides me some comfort that maybe not all is wrong with me.
If you were sad/dedicated enough to scroll back through the annals of my blog, you would find that whenever I am stricken down with some horrendous ailment, it receives unwarranted blog coverage. I’d like to assure you that it won’t happen this time. I’d like to, but I won’t.
When I went to bed last night, I felt like shit warmed up, then chilled for a while, then consequently reheated. I had a fitful night of dreams of The West Wing, besides waking up numerous times to empty my bladder of the 13 pints of peach flavoured squash I imbibed during the course of a major WW marathon. When my alarm went off at 6.30am, I went about trying to get myself the day off school. For those of you who don’t know, I work one day at a secondary school observing German lessons. I’m not sure I managed to get through to anybody important and so they may just think I took it off for shits and giggles.
If asked to gauge my sickness, I would not rate it as dismissable as a cold. However, I have had the flu twice (the actual flu, people, not this thing people call th flu, knowing full well that there’s nothing wrong with them – when you have the flu you understand how people died of it) and I can assure you all that it isn’t quite as bad as a flu. So basically, I have a clu…or maybe a fold. And where does TMS come into it? I’ll tell you, guys and gals:
If I’m ill, if I have a scratchy throat, if my head is feeling a little blurry, people will know. People will be regaled of my entire medical history just to elicit some semblance of compassion. My friends roll their eyes if we get stopped along our path, as I tell person after person about how my life might as well stop until this thing has blown it’s course. In fact, your life might as well stop until I’m feeling better as well. There you have it – a textbook case of TMS.
That said, it doesn’t just have to be about being ill. When my glasses miraculously fell apart on Friday morning, after I finished weeping over the broken fragments of my life, I periodically went around telling everyone, shocking them with how I would have to spend £200 on a new pair. As it happens, they put a new arm on them for me, amounting to the total sum of £10 – a little less glamorous, I’ll admit, but it meant that I was able to consume aa tub of Haagen Dazs in its stead. In fact, I have a second in the freezer, so it wasn’t all bad!
Anyway – I suppose the point of this blog is to tell you all that I’m feeling sick (I hate the word poorly with a passion, so use it in reference to me at your peril) and want your sympathy. Also, as these blog entries get exported onto Facebook, even more people have access to it! Gifts can be sent via Tocil 34.