Kudos building
Still in the fever of initial enthusiasm, and also I am in the grip of my new project.
I am doing a writing course through the OU. Giddily enjoyable, after enduring last years course.
When I started the course, our first day was a day school, where I was amused to find our little group all looked like they needed some fresh air, and were potentially anaemic.
Odd, then to discover, there does seem to be a type. I attend a Laura Marney workshop on character building, and enter a room with the realisation we all look pale, and that a jumble sale approach to clothing has been adopted by all. Not one of us looks like we could pay our Council Tax (by that, I mean, on time, without reminders, maybe even venturing into direct debits).
So, I don't know whether to be relieved or not - I mean, I fit the look described - and we are all the most serious looking cerebral bunch.
Anyway, the course has come at a good time. If you name any arena of my life right now, it has a question hanging over - I do not know by the end of this year what job, house, lifestyle I will be in.
February has not been known to be a fab month in the year for many previous years. After the welcome mid-term break, I am frustrated by a sudden increase in needle sharp pains in my back, and fluey bone weary exhaustion. I go to work, knowing I am not ok, to discover in the tiny team that looks after the pixies, that all of us are not good well this week.
One of them is diagnosed with 50% chicken pox, and that's the moment I know I have to tell my boss I am not ok, because I start to do what all managers secretly do - I hide in the cupboard so people don't know I am crying.
When you work and you have ME, the fact you look better than you feel is your calling card into employment. When you have bills to pay, then you know that losing your job is going to mean going back through the benefit system. Deciding when it is that you are risking relapse by working is very difficult. I have had very little sick leave during four years of working - if it takes all my energy to stay in work, then that is what it takes.
So, I measure when it is time to say, I cannot come in today on the basis that if I don't my friends will shout at me. With temperature spiking, and floors wobbling on them as Iwalk being the final triggers - I take two days off. I get very vivid dream sleep normally, but this week I've had a full orchestra, french radio, dreams I'm not well, and last night - I removed all the pus from my third eye. You know, the one you have dangling from your pouch.
And I feel awful. My friends are alerted, and I have to remind myself all the time not to panic, this is just a blip, I will get better.
It is less durable as I have been wrestling constantly with a job I really enjoy, but is three hours a day of intense physical and emotional out put. I love the pixies, even when they say they hate me, think I'm mean, etc.
The employment situation for ME'rs is fraught with difficulty. How many jobs can you do for 3 hours a day? There are potential areas I could work in - but they don't fit my particular symptoms. Most people do not need to sacrifice their social life, and evaluate how they use each particle of energy just in case they use too much and risk their livelihood.
Although doing the writing course takes up a lot of those particles, it really has opened up an outlet. Highlighting actually, that if a job with less responsibility arose, then writing would fill the uneasy gap that goes 'but being in charge is rather good for the kudos.'
I am doing a writing course through the OU. Giddily enjoyable, after enduring last years course.
When I started the course, our first day was a day school, where I was amused to find our little group all looked like they needed some fresh air, and were potentially anaemic.
Odd, then to discover, there does seem to be a type. I attend a Laura Marney workshop on character building, and enter a room with the realisation we all look pale, and that a jumble sale approach to clothing has been adopted by all. Not one of us looks like we could pay our Council Tax (by that, I mean, on time, without reminders, maybe even venturing into direct debits).
So, I don't know whether to be relieved or not - I mean, I fit the look described - and we are all the most serious looking cerebral bunch.
Anyway, the course has come at a good time. If you name any arena of my life right now, it has a question hanging over - I do not know by the end of this year what job, house, lifestyle I will be in.
February has not been known to be a fab month in the year for many previous years. After the welcome mid-term break, I am frustrated by a sudden increase in needle sharp pains in my back, and fluey bone weary exhaustion. I go to work, knowing I am not ok, to discover in the tiny team that looks after the pixies, that all of us are not good well this week.
One of them is diagnosed with 50% chicken pox, and that's the moment I know I have to tell my boss I am not ok, because I start to do what all managers secretly do - I hide in the cupboard so people don't know I am crying.
When you work and you have ME, the fact you look better than you feel is your calling card into employment. When you have bills to pay, then you know that losing your job is going to mean going back through the benefit system. Deciding when it is that you are risking relapse by working is very difficult. I have had very little sick leave during four years of working - if it takes all my energy to stay in work, then that is what it takes.
So, I measure when it is time to say, I cannot come in today on the basis that if I don't my friends will shout at me. With temperature spiking, and floors wobbling on them as Iwalk being the final triggers - I take two days off. I get very vivid dream sleep normally, but this week I've had a full orchestra, french radio, dreams I'm not well, and last night - I removed all the pus from my third eye. You know, the one you have dangling from your pouch.
And I feel awful. My friends are alerted, and I have to remind myself all the time not to panic, this is just a blip, I will get better.
It is less durable as I have been wrestling constantly with a job I really enjoy, but is three hours a day of intense physical and emotional out put. I love the pixies, even when they say they hate me, think I'm mean, etc.
The employment situation for ME'rs is fraught with difficulty. How many jobs can you do for 3 hours a day? There are potential areas I could work in - but they don't fit my particular symptoms. Most people do not need to sacrifice their social life, and evaluate how they use each particle of energy just in case they use too much and risk their livelihood.
Although doing the writing course takes up a lot of those particles, it really has opened up an outlet. Highlighting actually, that if a job with less responsibility arose, then writing would fill the uneasy gap that goes 'but being in charge is rather good for the kudos.'
posted by Miss Fairy Sparkle at
3:02 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home