Winged Scapula

Despite my improved mood of late I couldn’t help a momentary slump yesterday afternoon following my cheese medical.

I’m quite impressed that they go to all the trouble of checking out their prospective employees in order to assess their suitability for the work (or more pertinently to minimise the risk of litigation) but I couldn’t help feeling like the proverbial piece of meat, the proverbial small cog in the big wheel of industry and the proverbial fish out of water.

It’s all very well being resolute in the pursuit of fiscal reward but I don’t really want to work in a factory, I’m pretty sure I’ll hate it and it will make me depressed. I’ve grown to like doing chores around the house, sitting at my laptop, walking the dogs, intermittent child minding and food shopping, I’m pretty sure I won’t like cheese turning.

Cheese turning is apparently what tall people end up doing. I can’t explain it to you just yet but I’m sure that a full and detailed description of why cheese turners being tall is as logical as chimney sweeps being small and Father Christmas’ being fat will be posted here once I’m in the know.

It was only a temporary depression. I had the walk back to think my way out of it and last night I spoke to some friends back home and reminded myself that my wages will not only be set against my ever increasing debt but will also be used to visit said friends at the end of the year. Nearly September now…home at the end of December…15 weeks…not that likely to top myself am I?

Anyway, the physiotherapist who prodded me and ummed and arghed said that I had Winged Scapula. Something to do with my shoulder-blades which I’ll look up later in case it’s anything terminal (which might get me out of having to turn cheese).