Actually, I'm going back in tomorrow, for a meeting with Jobsworth to discuss the conditions for my return, and how he can help make it a successful one - why oh why could I not have kept my trap shut last time I spoke to the company doctor? Why did I not stop myself from giving vent to my frustrations and allow her to stick the burn-out label on me? So that's why it took Jobsworth a month to get in touch with me!
I had expected his phone call a lot sooner, but wasn't unduly worried when it didn't come. Last week, I was starting to feel much better, well-rested, optimistic, not in so much pain anymore -- and then he calls and panic strikes. He says he wants to discuss all the things that bother me and how he can help prevent future problems from arising and I, I just want to flee, find some kind of hidey-hole and stay there. God! he mentioned someone from HR might be there 'to act as mediator' and possibly, the company psychologist, too...the company psychologist? Could I be in deeper shit?
I don't want to go to this meeting. He or they'll make me say unsmart things. I'll sound like a whining bitch, and I don't want to. How did I get myself into this? How do I get myself out?
Anyhow -- presuming I survive tomorrow's meeting with a bare minimum of embarrassment, I'm positive going back to work will do me the world of good. I'm quite curious to see how my projects and clients have been faring in my absence (I wonder if Sophie's stepped up to the mark this time?), and I'm starting to miss the social aspect of it as well. Over the last couple of weeks, I've (re-)read 7 or 8 books (some more interesting than others), watched 3 or 4 DVDs (but however big my fondness for Chinese fightfilms, I really can't fill my entire days with them), and I've had a friend stay with me for a week, forcing me to indulge in the touristy thing for a bit - a visit to the Peace Palace, e.g., and one to Johannes Vermeer's Girl With A Pearl Earring (Tracy Chevalier, you've got a lot to answer for!); but by now, I'm getting restless. My ankle is improving (I'm down to one crutch now, and I can potter about the house without it) and I feel the need to occupy my mind with bigger and more pertinent questions than whether Bill or Kwame will do the better job as CEO in training of one of Donald Trump's ventures, or whether Carrie should choose The Russian over Mr. Big or vice versa. Never before have I cared either way, but after 5 weeks of watching daytime telly, these are the things that engage me.
My ankle, as I said, is getting better. Still swollen, still sore, but less so than last week. Remco'd taken the day off so this morning, I had to put myself into the hands of his new trainee, Rutger. Lovely young man, so fit and handsome. A footballer, tall and lean, blond, blue eyes, good sense of humour. The morning had barely started, and I was already flirting. Ah! sometimes, it just feels so good to be alive!