I’ve been sitting here waiting nervously for the crisis team, who were due at 12pm. At 12.30pm I thought, “You know, the last time they were here, they didn’t even want to sit on my sofa because it was such a mess, so let’s straight up Reggie and maybe open a curtain so they don’t think I wallow in my own dusty poo all day long”. I’m mannered, y’know? And I want them to leave me alone.
Pluffed a pillow, had a fag, sprayed some no-brand Febreeze pretender, and by 12.40pm,
*Ring ring* That’s my ring tone.
“Hello, this is Nurse YoungPerson from the crisis team. I know we had an appointment at 12. It’s now 12.40…”
Why do people who ring you in a professional capacity always tell you the time? It’s handy, like the other day when I couldn’t for the life of me remember what date it was. I was reminded. I thanked them. And earlier when I tried to access my online banking and utterly forgot every detail, including my address when I tried to reset the password. I would have appreciated someone ringing up to tell me where I lived. I’m now waiting for a new one by post. Handy, yes, but why?
“I was on your road, but a strong gust of wind suddenly blew the paper with your address and phone number out of my hand right onto the road, into the path of a car”.
“I had to go back to the office. Sorry…”
*from behind my hand* “No worries…”
Just wanted to share that with you all.
Filed under: Bipolar Disorder