Remember remember?

We’ll be setting off fireworks in our back garden tonight, though it will be for Guy Fawkes Day – an event that President Obama’s recent big win will have surely overshadowed, but hey. America is back on its meds and I think we can all breathe a collective (but cautious) sigh of relief for that.

And speaking of mental health! I need some of it quite soon, as the gap between work’s relentless pace and my capacity to hormonally cope with that is closing quickly now. It’s impacting on my ability to keep a cool head when my colleagues flail about in agony as zombies dine on their limited brain matter threaten to lose theirs, and also sleep.

I can’t sleep. I just can’t do it. I lie in the dark - exhausted, wearing earplugs to block out the distracting noise that breathing and air and photosynthesis make - and the clock goes midnight, then one, then two, then three. Then I fall asleep for five minutes and am wakened by the sound of a spider plant frond waving from across the room or a feather working its way out of my pillow and onto the rug.

I am more or less able to deal with these things, taken together or alone, but Bruce thought I should try and get signed off of work anyway. Just in case our little joke about ending it all stops being funny and starts making sense to one of us (honestly, I don’t know how he’s put up with me so far). As long as I can eliminate the most obvious stresses, we can work on the ones that are not so straightforward.

My midwife called today to say that if I had any problems getting a note from my GP she would write it herself. I guess that means it’s a done deal, but I’m not sure whether I’ll use my get out of jail free card or just pocket it for a rainy day (a monsoon, perhaps). Sometimes just seeing an Exit sign can give you the encouragement you need to keep going. It’s not much longer now.

I probably won’t be handling the fireworks myself, though.