Weird, wired and worried

What a strange week.
The insanity of everyday life in a supermarket has seen me baffled to the point of defeat, drinking too much coffee, or hiding in the toilet in the throes of a cataclysmic panic attack.
My standing as a ‘respected manager’ took a dive somewhat when I nearly choked to death on a flapjack. It happened yesterday afternoon in the staff canteen. I inhaled at the wrong point of chewing and got some oats caught in my windpipe. A quick-thinking warehouse chap punched me full force between the shoulder blades, and I covered the till girl sitting opposite in spit and crumbs. My first week on the job has not, to say the very least, been glorious.

One thing work has done, though, is distract me from thinking about tomorrow’s tattoo appointment, which I’d forgotten right up to the point that Philippa walked in, tapping her shoulder and saying “this time tomorrow your name will be here.”
There I was, relieved to have survived to Friday and switching off for a relaxing weekend, and now I can’t stop thinking about needles and ink.
What the HELL am I doing?

RC 10-6-11