The Bejesus...

...yes, managing to scare that out of myself. How/where/why? Not at the charms of Saw III, sadly, but finding out just how unbelievably high my blood pressure really is. I went to the health centre on Friday, to get a referral to stop the sad teenage-level-acne that I now have and try and sort out my knee injury (on my referral it calls me a "soccer player". I had to bite my tongue to stop myself shouting at the very sweet woman that in fact I was a football player and I cannot bear the word "soccer" - perhaps another indication of my rather elevated stress levels?). Anyway, aforementioned lovely woman took my blood pressure.

Oops.

It was, in any measure, high. In fact, incredibly high. According to the American Heart Association, my systolic is prehypertensive and my diastolic was in stage 2 of hypertension.

I am not massively overweight (genuinely - I am about 2lbs thus at the moment for a woman my height), and I exercise a couple of times a week. And yet, and yet. Proof that the stress of work really is getting to me. Also rather bad was the managing to injure myself at football on Saturday which means I am loath to exercise just yet because my ankle might go again. Estupida.

Still, a woman calling herself The Vampire took my blood this morning for a full chemical work up, including cholesterol. I can't wait to find out how unhealthy I really am.

No, seriously. That's going to be so much fun.

Anyway, now the Note beast has been temporarily subdued, I don't know quite what to do with myself. The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins, and I don't know how to channel that. One attempt will be made with shopping and lychee martinis tonight. If that fails, goodness only knows what I should go for next. Maybe some soothing music. Time to stop listening to thumping techno beats and maybe have lots of lovely soft Roy Ayers, Bill Withers and suchlike.