And me a school teacher too.
Today day started well.
When I woke up, I realised that I had slept through the whole night (I am usually woken by something or someone at around 4:40 am most mornings - our neighbour works shifts).
I carried on dozing for another half hour or so, almost unaware of the clammy embrace of the oxygen tube.
Breakfast and real coffee.
The Saturday morning pupil, a pleasant young man cramming for a Grade 5 theory exam, had done some homework, and got most of it right too.
I had half an hour to catch up with lesson reviews - I had a backlog of lessons to write up (all my class music lessons have to have planning and then reviews written up and sent in to the relevant schools). With some fast work on the computer I knocked it back to just three.
Then time to go and get my mother home from the Care Home where she has been all week while my father had a break.
Well, I work hard at being an optimist, and keeping my glass half full rather than half empty, and looking on the bright side, and staying cheerful and positive, but half full is only half full, when all is said and done, so it doesn't take much of being of the receiving end of a mile of complaints, and yards of criticisms, and metres of recitations of wrongs, and sheaves of instructions to do this, and that, and stand here, and look there, for my glass of well-being to be drained to the last drop. Smile. Take it on the chin. Respond with grace and patience and positivity and helpfulness. It's a stressful and emotional time for everyone. Don't add to it.
I let fly with my own verbal response once I was on my own in the room; I won't repeat what said - I was using a very limited and repetitive vocabulary. Suffice it to say that the bedroom door, held open by a floor catch, suddenly slammed shut of its own accord!
Kicking hell out of a poor inoffensive lamp-post on my way to the car sort of helped, although I don't recommend it as you can hurt your toes if you are not precise with your aim.
We didn't stay long once everyone was back in their proper place - things to do, errands to run, jobs to finish. It seemed a good idea to let everyone get on with what they wanted to do next. Anyway I was in no mood to socialise, chat, discuss, or even TALK to anyone. Now I needed some time and space to work at getting a grip of myself, and pull myself together, and find some way of refilling my glass of cheer.
We went into town for lunch and grocery shopping and getting the banking done and other bits and pieces on the list.
I took my "before meals" pill in the car park, swallowing it down without water. It stuck. It tastes dreadful if it starts to dissolve in my mouth - very bitter - very ugh. "Bugger" I said, and then realised I'd said it out loud, and the couple walking past us, much our own age looked totally surprised. I explained that the pill had got stuck, refused their kind offer of water, and succeeded second time round with the help of a boiled sweet.
So yes, ooops. I really did say it out loud. In my "outside" voice. Oddly enough, my glass of optimism began to start the process of refilling itself.