Fuck This Shit

It’s 8am, my head hurts and I’m a level of exhausted reserved for those both pregnant and sick at the same time. 

Outside the sun is shining, the air looks relatively warm, and I should want to garden or something. Instead I would like to go back to bed, because I had to get up at 6am to let the dog out of the garage to go to the toilet.

There was a 16 year old standing in the kitchen listening to him bark and whine to be let out, but apparently it’s too fucking hard for a kid of that age to walk across the room, let the cat into my room, and then let the dog out. So I got up and dealt with it. 

So I’m sick. I’m exhausted. And I’ve been up for 2 hours.

Let’s call this ‘training for motherhood’ rather than ‘seeing how far I can be pushed before I lose my shit entirely’. 


I got really sick this last weekend.

Weeks of early starts, late finishes, bad eating and bad sleep caught up with me…

At Confest. Was not happy to have had to leave early, but it was a very effective boot up the ass. Mega effective. The upset to me and the upset to the Wild one – who was meant to b fire twirling that nights – was far worse than the drive back on Sunday or how sick I felt.

It’s highlighted a lot of frustration that I have though. Do you know how hard it is to get food that I can eat when I’m out in the sticks? And restaurants that cater to my dietary requirements are either super expensive or… average. I feel bad even saying that, but it’s true. If the menu consists of stuff I can make at home and better then it’s average. I don’t want to pay for that.

But paying for not average poison… well my hands are weak as shit and in pain days later. My joints are aching and I feel like crap, still. Just better than on the weekend.

Anyway, off to cook. Bitch over.

Well Fuck! Sort of…

So it’s been a while. I’ve been suffering a long string of further health problems, including ongoing exhaustion issues, which came to a head when my digestive system started doing some rather odd and scary things. I hauled my ass to the GP who proceeded to scare the crap out of me but suggesting I may have bowel cancer….

A couple of very tense weeks and a few expensive specialist visits later and I am assured I do not have bowel cancer.

This makes me very happy.

I did however get a dual diagnosis of digestive system issues, a third potential problem in my oesophagus that we’re waiting on lab results for and a number of biopsies have been taken to check that the first two, which were visual diagnosis’ aren’t linked to anything else or part of a bigger problem. Go me, I don’t fucking do anything in half measures.

A lot of reading later and the short answer to the main two is goodbye gluten and lactose – and my body still has no love for fructose. So basically I’m on the strict end of the FODMap diet going forward, instead of the half assed version I’ve been getting away with for the past few years.

I’m looking at the bright side: I don’t have cancer.

Also this fucking thing won’t scroll down on my mac. Fucking new post editor.

It's scary out there…

The thing about fear is that, for the most part, we’re taught to handle the basics… but usually poorly. Then we get let loose on the world and suddenly we’re faced with the complex – death, love, and whatever the bright green gelatinous $40 blob the waiter just informed you was edible is – and we haven’t got a fucking clue.

For me that lead to three situations.

1. A five year long abusive relationship that I struggled to fully end.

2. Continuing a ‘friendship’ for over a year after the ‘friend’ had raped me.

3. A sudden appreciation for small vicious mammals…

Ever seen what a small mammal does when you back it into a corner where it’s fight or die? It might still die, but there will be a lot of blood and you’ll be wearing those marks for the rest of your fucking life.

I’m scared. To be honest, in a way I’m actually more scared right now than I’ve ever been in my life. The normal reaction is to withdraw into myself and pretend everything is ok until it washes over and I can pretend nothing ever happened. See how far that’s gotten me in the past (hint: see points 1 and 2).  I let myself get in the position that I have something to lose…

And I’m ready to go scorched earth and rip some fuckers throat out. I don’t remember the last time I have been so angry and ready for a fight.

Fear isn’t a bad thing. Reacting blindly to fear is a bad thing, but the fear itself? Fear can be survival instinct telling us to run away, it can tell us we have something to lose, it can tell us when to stand our ground, it can tell us to fight… and, when faced up to and looked at squarely, it can put steel into us like we never knew was possible.

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