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It’s almost midday, and I’ve already had four missed calls from work. I say missed calls; I mean avoided calls. I didn’t actually miss any of them. The fact of the matter is that I can’t face going to work. I don’t care if they sack me. I’ll find another job. I really don’t care. Work’s the least of my worries right now. I can’t even face leaving the house.
But I’m going to have to. I called Maisie Haynes about an hour after Dad rang this morning. I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t even understand my own thought processes right now, so I need someone who can. I need the therapist to untangle the threads, make sense of the spaghetti mishmash that is the lines of thought currently going through my head.
Maisie said she could fit me in at 12.30. That’s the best she could do, unfortu
