In the week before Easter, I was off work for three days with a bad cold. I'd been fighting through the cold over a week by the time I finally gave in and called in sick, but I just didn't seem able to shake it and I was feeling worse, rather than better, every day.
I still felt guilty calling in sick though. I don't like being absent from work, especially with a bloody cold! I've never thrown a sickie in my life... I just can't handle the stress. Everyone seemed fine about my absence, but that didn't stop my paranoia taking hold. The nice lady I called from HR said she hoped I'd be better for the Easter holiday, and even though I knew she wasn't having a dig... part of me wondered if she was.
It doesn't help that in my previous job at The Bad Place, we were put under pressure not to ever be ill, since there was never any staff free to cover our classes and management hated paying for agency cover. I recall one year I was off sick on my birthday, and my boss made a point of sending me a Happy Birthday! text. I was convinced it contained an inference that I was only taking the day off to celebrate... and how the hell did she even know it was my birthday? I never told her! As a course leader, I was also put under pressure to call or message anyone who was absent on my team and ask them when they thought they'd be back. Will you be in tomorrow? I refused to do it, because I felt it crossed a line, but I know other people who followed that practice.
I also knew that if I was off sick, it would put extra pressure on the other teachers in my team who were already over-worked and up against it. Many of my colleagues felt the same... and the ones who didn't, I was almost conditioned to believe they were swinging the lead. I guess in that, I was just as guilty of perpetuating the guilt cycle as my employers were. This was the culture that was bred into us in The Bad Place.
My current employers are much more understanding when it comes to sick leave, and because I know my colleagues are less over-worked, I don't feel like I'm imposing on them too much if I take time off. And yet... I still feel the guilt.
A report on patient.info asks "Why do we feel anxious about calling in sick when we are genuinely unwell?" Human behaviour expert Claire Brummell suggests...
The feeling of guilt we experience in these situations is because we are conditioned as a society to view doing anything to prioritise our own well-being as selfish.
This means that, even when we are physically in need of prioritising ourselves and our healing because we are genuinely ill, we still respond in a way that suggests we are doing something wrong.
Not only is it not selfish to call in sick, it is Selfirst - the practice of meeting your own needs as a priority, in ways that do not do harm to others, and sometimes can benefit them. It is actually taking care of the needs of others as well.
I get all that, and it's good to hear that I'm not the only one who has these feelings. But I'm not sure it's enough to stop me feeling them. Maybe after a few more years in this more supportive work environment, some of the mental scars from The Bad Place will start to fade. Until then, I just need to remember Chip Taylor's rather extreme solution...
Due to our imminent (fingers still crossed) move, I've been packing boxes and unscrewing shelves all weekend, so no time to collate the mammoth Fred entry to Name That Tune, or do your many suggestions justice. So here's a couple of Freda songs to tide you over, starting with the lady above...
So I was listening to Cerys Matthews on 6Music a couple of weekends back and I heard a song which sounded instantly familiar... even though I was convinced I'd never heard it before. One thing was certain: I wanted to hear more by this artist.
One of the many great music blogs I often frequent via my sidebar is Badger & SWC's When You Can't Remember Anything. I'm not entirely sure why they call their blog that, but it's a title which sums up so much of my life. My memory is not the greatest thing. I drive my significant other insane by writing notes to remind me of even the slightest little household task, because I know without them I'll forget. And yet... I can remember the lyrics of a song I haven't listened to in 25 years when it pops up on the radio. The mind is a cruel, cruel mistress.
However.
Occasionally in the comments section here, someone will commend me on my musical memory. To be honest though (despite what I said above), I don't really think it's that great. Yes, I can remember lyrics. But I can't remember where I bought the LPs of my youth (like Brian can) or recall entire conversations I had 20 years ago that revolved around obscure novelty records (like Jez can). I certainly can't bring back the kind of heartwarming musical anecdotes that Badger, SWC, Alyson, and others manage to regale us with on a regular basis. Half the time I feel like I've forgotten more than I'll ever remember about the music of my past...
...which brings us to this:
7. Jake Thackray - The Blacksmith & The Toffee Maker
If you're a year or two older than me, you probably remember Jake Thackray from his many television appearances in the late 60s and early 70s. Having done my research, I now think I do too. I recognise his voice (notable as it's local to me: he's from Kirkstall, a half hour drive away, but a place I have visited since I was a teenager as it is home to the first and oldest multiplex cinema round these parts) as well as his wry, minutely detailed songwriting. Morrissey & Jarvis were both early fans - and you can hear his influence on their witty lyricism. According to iffypedia, Jake fell out of favour in the 80s as his songs were seen as both bawdy and occasionally sexist... nothing wrong with the former, and as to the latter, well... as I'm now the proud owner of a 4 disc collection of his work*, I say: bull. (I could write more about that, but this post is already going on way too long.)
The point? I'd forgotten Jake Thackray completely until Cerys played the song below. And now I feel like a long lost friend from my childhood has come knocking. Except... could I be imagining that? Could I actually not remember Jake Thackray at all? Could it be he's exactly the kind of amusingly erudite wordsmith I adore, and I secretly want to claim him as mine when really we're complete strangers? I just don't know.
I can't remember anything...
*I had to buy the digital collection, sadly, as the OOP CDs would have set me back a couple of hundred quid.