After two days of horrible pain & tiredness I decided to give a trip to the GP another go. She was unwilling to listen & stuck to the standard mantra of "Don't take ibuprofen if you have asthma." Yawn. Not willing to listen, suggested the problem might be muscular, with which I disagree, can muscular pain continue for ten weeks? I doubt it. She dismissed me with the statement that they can do no more until they receive the letter from the specialist. It seems us none doctors are regarded as being incapable of communicating simple messages. Arse. Still she did prescribe me some Tramadol, which is taking the edge off but I feel utterly out of it. I can see why people take these for fun however, it's not my favoured altered state. I am not enjoying this at all. Can't get motivated, feel all woozy, detached, bizarre.  Not nice. Incredibly difficult to get motivated & I'm fighting against a huge block of disappointment, confusion about where to turn & what to do next. Plus the dismissal & the finding of nothing is making me feel like a fraud, even though I know I'm not. I'm winning the battle to stay positive, keep doing things & not retreat to the bed all tearful & helpless but only just. Walking past people who are smoking fags, drinking booze, out of their minds on something fills me with rage at the minute. I envy their sweet euphoria, that blessed ignorance, that chemical cushion that keeps everything at bay. I know it only ever did me harm, but right now a holiday in my head seems the ideal destination. Not getting on the bus though, the train or the plane. To get dressed. I have Stormtroopers to meet, which is when this started...