Monday, September 26, 2016

Errr....was that it then?

So is that it then? Summer's over? It's gone all wet and cold. And I'm not best pleased. Especially as I cracked out my boots, only to discover I've lost flexibility in my feet. Not a problem when you're wearing flip flops or converse, as I have been (I was going to say 'all summer' but as that equates to two weeks, I won't.)Flip flops and converse don't require anything of your feet. And this is something  I hadn't thought of, well I did when a friend of mine who knows about these things, told me to keep my ankles flexible. And I did. I'd stand with the balls of my feet on the edge of a step, and drop my heels down. Then we moved, and I was in a wheelchair more and more, and I just forgot. But I'm going to bloody well start again! I have three pairs of boots that I was really looking forward to being re-united with again, so I better try to get some flexibility back. Either that, or it's flip flops though the winter. No thanks.

So anyway, that was a gift from ms that I could do without, but hopefully one that can be reversed. My calf muscles will have been shortened, due to lack of use, through not walking. So I just best make them longer then. The whole not walking thing is a pile of shyte. But I think I said that last time. Yep, well, it's still shyte, with a nice fat cherry (representing the boots) on top.

Plus, I can't really be buying boots, when I've got a wedding dress to buy. Not for me, obviously, I have The Good Man, but for one of the girls. But, then again, maybe I will get the boots, to go with my leather jacket, that she's banned me from wearing to the wedding. She's quite petite, I'm sure we could cobble together a dress out of something. My beautiful white tablecloth perhaps?

Anyway, I've got my dress already. Mother of the bride n all that. And no, I won't be wearing a hat. Anyway, my dress....it's coral, and was in the sale. Not one, but two jackpots hit. I fell in love with it, so a purchase was made. Ching Ching. Another jackpot hit. The holy grail of clothing buying hit. In the sale....ca ching! favourite colour.....ca ching! Loved it....CA CHING!!

I've got the grand total of nada planned for this week, until I hit Saturday. Then it's a pub lunch with two friends. One of the hard core few, and his girlfriend. So let's hope I've sorted my calf muscles enough, to wear a pair of my lovely lovely boots. (Falling in love with them even more, now I know I can't wear them!) Still, five days of stretches to go!! I'll be sending up a prayer to the goddess of beautiful boots, and asking her to flex my calves and ankles.

I'll let you know how it goes.....

Friday, September 23, 2016

my home my home my home.

I feel like I'm suffocating. Me, and the people around me. My family. My friends. Who, for the most part, have disappeared. A few remain. The hard core few. They can see I'm still here.

Living with a slow burning destroyer is hard. So hard. I forget myself. Forget who I was. I think that I must be mistaken, if my former self makes itself known. I am unrecognisable to myself. 
I was the girl who went to the gym, who went to yoga and pilates, who grew to love running on the treadmill, she's gone. As is the girl that drove, delivered babies, made silver jewellery, swam and walked. Of all the elements of me, it's walking I miss most of all. Walking meant I could stand. Standing means I can shower on my own. Standing is the starting point of walking. Walking meant so very much to me. It opens up the world. Walking is a springboard. 
I don't know how to feel ok with being like this. With being less. It makes me want to scream out loud...to cry until my chest hurts. To rage. To rage. TO RAGE.
But I don't. I keep it all in. Where it festers. And becomes poison. And like acid, it erodes. Until all that's left is a shadow. A shadow of my former self. 

So that was yesterday. Fast forward to midnight and my eyes are still burning. I feel so small and so insignificant. And like people are lining up ready to shove me in a corner. Well I am ready to scratch your bleeding eyes out if you try. I am worth more than that, so take your fucking ugly devices and shove them. They are not designed to make my life better. They are designed to make your life better. In fact, I'd go as far to say that the design thought was missing. They have no place in my HOME. So you can tell yourself that you've done what you can, with the shit that you have, palmed off on some poor spastic, to make your life easier, to make your guilt lighter. I say your, but I mean occupational health. Their occupation was not concerned with my mental health. I felt like I was physically shrinking. 
Yes, I'm unhappy. Yes, I hate myself. I want to turn myself inside out, and rub myself raw. I want to rid myself of this life stealing, slow burning disease. But it's part of who I am, and like my shadow, it will always be here. 

Monday, September 5, 2016

Untouchable.

It's Sunday morning, and right now I'm supposed to be getting ready, as friends are coming over for food and a catch up. But my eyes are feeling like they're burning, and my head has the weight of a concrete ball, and is too heavy to lift off my pillow. But as I don't want to force my friends to see my unmade self, I'd better shift.

I shifted and I'm now pleasant smelling, dressed, but with wet hair. My lanky friend always looks lush. No pressure then. Thank fuck I had a shower, did my hair, and put on mascara then. The mascara was dying a clumpy death, and I happily remembered that another friend, is due back from America, ANY TIME SOON, and she always, without fail, brings me back a Mac mascara.

Our friends arrive, and then they leave. I get to keep the memory of their visit. Hugs. Kisses. Bomber jackets. Photos. Chatting. Didgeridoo playing. Or failing to play the didgeridoo. Sharing spit whilst attempting to play the didgeridoo. The didgeridoo hails from Australia.....and this leads to me thinking about Rolf bloody Harris. I shove memories of him OUT of my mind. Nasty nasty little shyte of a man. I mean, what the fuck was he thinking? Actually, I don't want to know what he was thinking. Did he think his victims would NOT be given credibility? Because he had an OBE? A CBE? An MBE? He must have thought he was so firmly rooted in Britian, that nobody would believe any victim that came forward. He must of considered himself UNTOUCHABLE.

So now he's in prison, where I hope he dies. I hope he dies realising that nobody is above the law. And those girls, any girls, or boys, are the only UNTOUCHABLE ones. 
It's Sunday morning, and right now I'm supposed to be getting ready, as friends are coming over for food and a catch up. But my eyes are feeling like they're burning, and my head has the weight of a concrete ball, and is too heavy to lift off my pillow. But as I don't want to force my friends to see my unmade self, I'd better shift.

I shifted and I'm now pleasant smelling, dressed, but with wet hair. My lanky friend always looks lush. No pressure then. Thank fuck I had a shower, did my hair, and put on mascara then. The mascara was dying a clumpy death, and I happily remembered that another friend, is due back from America, ANY TIME SOON, and she always, without fail, brings me back a Mac mascara.

Our friends arrive, and then they leave. I get to keep the memory of their visit. Hugs. Kisses. Bomber jackets. Photos. Chatting. Didgeridoo playing. Or failing to play the didgeridoo. Sharing spit whilst attempting to play the didgeridoo. The didgeridoo hails from Australia.....and this leads to me thinking about Rolf bloody Harris. I shove memories of him OUT of my mind. Nasty nasty little shyte of a man. I mean, what the fuck was he thinking? Actually, I don't want to know what he was thinking. Did he think his victims would NOT be given credibility? Because he had an OBE? A CBE? An MBE? He must have thought he was so firmly rooted in Britian, that nobody would believe any victim that came forward. He must of considered himself UNTOUCHABLE.

So now he's in prison, where I hope he dies. I hope he dies realising that nobody is above the law. And those girls, any girls, or boys, are the only UNTOUCHABLE ones. 

Friday, September 2, 2016

Friends and leaders. Or not. Depending on your view point.

Today has been Thursday, and as such, my friend was here for the day. She comes over every week to help me out, or take me out, and to spend time with The Little Man. As she has been both a nanny  and a nurse, she is well suited to helping us out. Plus, I used to work with her, so I know her work ethic. She is one of a group of us that have been revolving around each other, through work and kids, for the last 20 years. Shit. Is it really that long? Am I really that old? Yes. And yes.

It shouldn't come as a surprise, but it does somehow. I remember laughing, (kindly, of course) at a friend of mine telling me how she'd disagreed with her husband over her age. He'd made her older, by a year I think. Anyway, she wasn't having it, and a calculator got bought into the argument, (for clarification purposes) He was right. I think she cried. When she told me the sorry tale, I'm afraid to admit, that I too cried. With laughter.  However, fast forward a number of years, and I too struggle to remember my age. I know what decade I'm in. It's the units I struggle with. No such problem for my five years younger husband. He just adds five to his age. When he starts to forget his age, we'll both be screwed.

Today I was reading about Trump. Now he's one scary sod, isn't he? Or laughable. Or he would be if people weren't listening and agreeing with him. The wall? WTF?? He's racist, homophobic and misogynistic. And just an all round dick. Saying Mexico will pay for the wall? I'm sure they would if it guaranteed that the arsewipe that is Trump couldn't get in to Mexico. And he lies. He contradicts himself over and over. AAAAAARRRRRGGHHHHH! AMERICA! Please don't let that man be President. I know nothing of Clinton. Mrs that is. And, to be fair, all I know of Mr is that he fancies himself, and that he's not too sure what having 'sexual relations' entails.

Well, I think I'd better go, and read up on Thrilliary. And actually, I find myself more interest in Americas presidential debate, than our (the UKs) PM debate. I need to sort that out. I read up on the candidates before I vote. But that's it. Once the voting is done, and the votes have been counted,  it's too late to read up then. We are stuck with whomever. Marvellous init?