I MADE IT OUT OF THE HOUSE!
Sorry about the lack of foreplay leading up to that but its kind of a big deal. It’s been a gorgeous, but cold day up here, the skies were blue, the birds were twatting about and I got out. Even as someone who doesn’t embrace the wholesome joy of “being outside” I really really struggle if I can’t get out the house when the sun is shining. Today could quite easily have been a write off, and actually on paper it should have been because I’ve pushed myself but fuck me it was nice to be out breathing air that didn’t stink of either cat shit, baby shit or spew. It’s been a rough week.
Now before you go imagining me jetting around town meeting my “girlfriends” for coffee, let me give you a dose of reality – I went to the recycling bin half way up my street. There, that shat all over the glamour of the day for you; you’re welcome. There is some redemption though, the street I live in has the most amazing views so this is where our recycling bins are:
Not bad is it? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all picture postcard in the village, but this bit is stunning. I know what you’re thinking: “please tell me she doesn’t chuck her empty smoked paprika bottles down the hill into the water? What kind of moron does that?”, fucks sake of course I don’t, I’m not a 14 year old hooligan, I even separate the glass into the right coloured bins! I’m a model fucking citizen, well Christiaan is mostly, I try and steer clear normally. Now for most people, even if they haven’t realised it, the glass recycling place is a stage of judgement; you get to see how many bottles of wine or beer your neighbours have necked and compare with your own collection – it’s the only definitive way of scaling your alcoholism. It’s a bit different for me mind, I don’t really drink too much – I’ve got painkillers which get you in a similar state quicker so there’s no bastard point trying to drink my worries away, I’d only fall asleep anyway. So the only time I partake is when I could KILL for a Bailey’s… I know that sounds mental, how many people crave a creamy liquor? Don’t be filthy. I reckon it’s because I don’t drink too often so I see it as a real treat; it’s a dessert and a drink all in one and there are ice cubes involved, which is always satisfying. When you have a Bailey’s you’re shouting fuck you to fat club; yes I’m saying that drinking a pensioners tipple makes me feel rebellious. Before you judge me, I should say I also enjoy red wine, I’m not a complete loser…. well I am…but… fucks sake.
ANYWAY, I digress – we walked up to the recycling. I say walked, I kind of half dragged my legs while looking like I had a fanny fart stuck. You know the way you try and walk it out? Overly expressive leg movements meets dragging your feet with a bit of pelvic tilt action? Exactly like that, because I was trying so hard to look normal and stop my bones feeling like they were going to explode that I actually ended up looking like a dick, and yes I had my sunglasses on, not because I’m a poser but because the sun was attempting my burn my skull out through my eyes the dodgy bastard. Light sensitivity is something that comes and goes for me since I became ill (I hate that saying by the way… I didn’t “become ill”, I’m convinced someone opened my skull and rewired by brain one day), some days I can be absolutely fine and other days I feel like my eyes are campaigning for retirement and a Saga cruise round the Med. They can fuck right off, if I’m still working then so are they.
It was hard going that tiny walk but it felt great to have some fresh air and it was long overdue, especially for the wee man because he had another rotten night last night. He blew chunks at 9 resulting in Widow Twankey (Christiaan) needing to strip his bed again, and me cuddling him back to sleep but he was really really restless all night and I was all over the place worrying he would choke on his own spew so I barely slept. At 3am I was in his room again trying to get him back to sleep after he made vom noises and at 4.15am Christiaan uttered the sexiest words a man can ever say “You go back to bed hun and I’ll take him downstairs”…. M.E. or no M.E. that’s not an offer you should ever turn down. I shot off that sofa like a bee had tried to penetrate my arsehole and was asleep by the time they were down the stairs. He really is a glorious glorious man; he bought me a new griddle pan after reading my tirade last night, went to town with the new hoover today and sorted endless piles of washing – I adore him. So, I went back to bed, got up at 7.30 and twatted around playing farm animals and jigsaws with Eli before we went for our epic 11 minute round trip to the recycling bin and back. At just before 11 both Eli and I decreed we were fucked; I put him down for his nap and then I went to try and get some rest myself; I failed at sleep but managed a nice lie down and it stopped my eyes being on fire so it was all good.
We ALSO managed a 5 minute jaunt to Morrisons… I know, I KNOW – I live a life so many dream of, don’t take the piss, this is as interesting as it gets for me some days. We needed bread and peppers (because I go through at least 6 a week, I shit you not), so it gave me a good chance to get out while I have Christiaan here to help getting Eli in and out of the car. Tomorrow he’s is back at work and it’s just me and bollockchops getting on and doing the do, it’s generally a rough day. We have our Monday routine though – if we’re both capable in the morning! Tomorrow is shite evacuation day: aka weigh in day. We generally always go for a coffee and cake, he has the cake and I have the coffee, which then makes me shit for Scotland because I don’t drink it very often. It’s a routine that serves us both well and its gets us out the house AND I can sit down for it AND there’s cake if I want it; it’s like my dream activity….but with shite.
So we’ll see what the morning brings, and what results I see or don’t see at fat club. I’ve been 100% on the ball all week in spite of all the carry on, but couldn’t face cooking tonight so have picked at a chippy tea… a few chips and 2 slices of a 7 inch cheese and onion pizza to be precise. Whether or not that makes me gain 17 stone is yet to be seen; it depends on how effective that coffee is in the morning I guess.
- Eli seems to be on the mend
- The new hoover, fuck me, it’s epic
- I got out!
- Oh and I got a ReTweet from Belle and Sebastian – did you know Stuart Murdoch suffers from M.E./CFS too? I’ve put a screenshot below of the tweet because it makes me feel a bit famous. Big hello if you’re reading this because of the share… sorry its sweary. Not really.
- I couldn’t face a shower today, energy wise it was a choice between being able to go for a walk or being clean. I chose to be a dirty bastard.
- I am probably at the bottom of the barrel in terms of energy reserves actually, which sucks but it could all change tomorrow so I’m not getting woe is me on myself
- I hurt, everywhere including my eyes – oh look, I went woe is me on myself. Fucks sake
- Christiaan is back at work and I’m solo for 2 days….
- No work again this week
- Whats on the menu Mellars?
- Well not a fucking lot because I’m shit hah!
- Breakfast – nowt. Christiaan boiled me a couple of eggs but I couldn’t face them
- Lunch – technically an afternoon snack but a small amount of orzo pasta with the never ending left over pork meatball stew thing from last night… It’s all gone. I have defeated that 500g pack of mince on meal number 5!
- Dinner – less than half of a small chippy tea; I even fail at gluttony!
See you on the other side of Monday, the skid mark of the week.. and yes my screenshot is 1.50am, I was staring at the baby monitor.