A dear friend called me today to find out how I was doing. She had seen me on Sunday, two days after I intimately acquainted myself with the concrete on our drive. She very diplomatically told me I definitely had all the symptoms of concussion then, which included not talking like my normal self.
Today our next-door neighbour told me, via my husband, that I really should get checked out with the doctor. But it’s Friday. Everyone gets sick close to the weekend. No appointments, not even emergency ones. So I took myself off to a local accident clinic on the off chance that everyone in a 30 mile radius had decided in the last 24 hours to stay healthy and safe. Not a hope. After waiting there for four hours (which included curling up on a bench and sleeping for 40 minutes), I gave up and went home. I now have to wait until Monday for a doctor’s appointment. I have to work tomorrow, so hope I don’t get a rush of customers with difficult questions. Parts of my brain are still rather slow to communicate with my mouth, and what comes out of my mouth occasionally doesn’t link up with conversations in time and space.
My eye has almost returned to its normal colour, but there appears to be a lot of furniture rearranging going on inside my head. I hope that it all fits back together soon and that no one has stolen the sofa or the bookcase.
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