On Monday I wrote the following sentence: The routine's out
already, this won't be a great week, I can just feel it.
Yeah,
that's about right so far. It hasn't been horrendous, but well, it's not
been that great either. I won't bore you with the details, I'll save that
for my scandalous memoirs (really?) but I'm not feeling that great. Like
many others I often forget to read the detail in messages/emails/missives etc
and forgot to purchase my son a new Cub jumper for his 'swim up' from Beavers
on Monday.
Work's
been tricky and motivation, low. I am due to give a five minute
presentation about my experiences of having autism at a 'Celebrating Diversity' event in mid-November, but I'm just
hoping that I'll not make a huge tit of myself. My line manager says that
it's akin to standing in a bus
stop in your underwear. I don't want that, quite frankly, nobody
would. Even if I was to wear a Miss Mary of Sweden corselette.
There's a bus stop near work which people mainly use as a smoking
shelter, so I wouldn't wish to hang around in there either.
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