407. Back to school (again)

I don't know what time it is, I don't even know what day it is, I'm confused about which currency to use and I don't even know how many miles I have traveled over the summer. People - again - find me weird. She talks and carries Francs in her purse. And to top it all off we are starting the working week on a Friday.

So now I know that I am back at work and I don't like it one bit. 

I don't go for the free lunch. I go home and have a solitary lunch except this one there is no view over the lagoon or the harbour, only on my sleeping dog and my green garden. Then when Baby calls I say no problem I'll wait for you.

'Hi mum! You know I think you're going to be late for work. I met two of your colleagues on the way.'

There could not have been a better excuse than waiting for Baby to come back from wherever (job 1, job 2, friends, shopping, paralympics in Paris ... ) When I eventually reach work in the afternoon I drag my feet - literally - along the corridors and when I come into the meeting room I see that there is a single seat left and therefore I cannot chose where I am sitting. I have to fill the empty space. I don't say hello, I don't say sorry I'm late. Somebody says something but I don't know what. To me it sounds like mumble. I sit down with a face like thunder.

I put my bag down. I get up again right away. The sound of their voices makes me angry and everything that is said seems empty of meaning. One person is talking at great length about headphones for the kids as if AirPods haven't been invented yet (and my talking in francs suddenly feels normal), an other one goes on about an app to practice reading (kids in our school are all over 15) and an other asks me if I remember so and so from the list. What list? I have to leave the room so I get up and go without a word.

I wander along the corridors - literally aimlessly. Two members of staff are observing me, wondering if I'm looking for my meeting room. (They've seen me arrived late five minutes ago you see).

'I've got a sore belly.' I tell them, rubbing my tummy. And as they still look puzzled, I repeat.

'I'm sick. Sore tummy.'

They laugh a weird laugh. I think they think I've gone mad over the summer. Or maybe that it is a holiday destination that has made me sick when actually it is this place that makes me sick.

So I go back in, sit and silently growl, like a lion or tiger ready to jump and bite.

I realise after a while that things go much quicker and much smoother when I do not take part. This gives me a good opportunity to look around a little.

Next to me is the Stick Insect, really built like one and also sitting still like one, not moving, I only know she's not a stick insect because she has got a huge tattoo on her right arm - and also she has a phone on the desk in front of her and now and again she types on it. No stick insect would own a phone, let alone know how to use it. 

I go out holding my tummy in again. And I will not even rub my tummy when I leave the next meeting room where everyone is chatting and ignoring the guy who is speaking and yet he continues speaking. I think my tummy is not going to like school very much this year.