The trouble with being too sad to talk to people is that you can't talk to people to tell them how sad you are and ask for some help.
I have had all the phones switched off, because I started to physically panic whenever they rang; but I have managed to arrange a phone-call with B this afternoon, which while pretty depressing for him helped me quite a bit.
I hate how little things can STILL suddenly knock me off my perch and how a still small voice at the centre of me can see how irrational I'm being, but not really have any say in how I'm behaving.
Contributing factors this time:
- B not being accessible for sensible conversation for most of last week (ditdotdat, yes, I know what you mean and what you said did help a bit, thank you)
- I have undertaken some website work for a chap on behalf of the company. He is a loonbat-eared, tinfoil-hat-wearing maniac who keeps changing what he wants, shortening his deadlines and ringing me out of office hours. Also he doesn't seem to be able to remember my name. Over the course of the last week my freak-out levels where he is concerned have gone through Lost in Space ("Danger! Danger Will Robinson!"); slingshotted round the bit in WarGames where Matthew Broderick realises that the computer is playing for real; and is now at the point in A Night To Remember where Kenneth Moore is swimming around in mid-Atlantic in his polo-knecked sweater. However, during our conversation this afternoon, B said that he and R would deal with him and make him go away.
- Finalising the end of year accounts with Sarcastic Accountant. Since I am physically unable to even think about this without having actual palpitations, it's just going to have to wait until I'm back on form.
- Getting the house ready for viewings. My, that's fun. And so relaxing.
I didn't even make banana products. However I did make flapjacks and although I haven't been able to stir myself to make a proper meal for a couple of days I am consoling myself with the thought that oats are Good For You.
So there you are.