FaM.E. Erotic feedback and cock and balls galore

It’s a right dramatic looking day here today – you know how some days just look like THAT kind of nutter that ALWAYS chooses to sit next to you when you’re out? That’s the kind of day we’re having. It’s been sunny as fuck, windy as fuck, rainy as fuck and now it’s cloudy as fuck. The weather has no bastard idea who it wants to be today. I hate being one of those sorts of people who are fascinated by the weather, because, it’s dull really innit? Some sort of sky voodoo mixed with water black magic and a splash of air and it can either make or ruin your day. I’ve never really got it. I remember getting the wrong end of the stick altogether in Geography when being shown isobars. I swear, on my comfy slippers life that I thought they had said angle bars so off I went home to tell my folks, who’d clearly read the latest Parenting Monthly and wanted to know what I had learned at school that day. So I told them; angle bars. They took the utter piss out of me all night.

It wouldn’t have been so bad but I was only JUST living down calling the Bunsen Burners “bouncing burners” thinking that my chemistry teacher was just speaking with common Fife dialect and I wanted to say it properly. Then thinking that the very same Geography teacher who taught me about angle bars had said I was “erotic” with my vigour for learning on my report card. I had him pegged as a right dirty bastard, handed over my report card and neither or my parents mentioned it. A great big walloping sex word in my report card and they didn’t bat an eye. In fact they’d told me to stop pissing around drawing cock and balls and pay attention in class so I’d stop calling isobars angle bars. I couldn’t fathom why my dad didn’t want to go up to that school and kick seven shades of shit out of my teacher but, well if he wouldn’t confront the bastard, I would!

  • Me: “Sir, what did you mean EXACTLY that I was erotic in my report card”
  • Him: “What? What do you mean?” *going very pale*
  • Me pulling my report card out: “Look, here, you’ve said I’m erotic”
  • Him: “Sarah that says erratic”
  • Me: “Oh”
  • Every other fucker = pissing themselves

Maybe if I HAD spent less time drawing cocks I would have learned to read illegible teacher scrawl but it wasn’t my fault he wrote like a 5 year old having a break down.

I was looking through my Facebook pics the other day for one in particular of Eli and something hit me right in the chops and reminded me of that though: cock pics. They were every where. Whether it be pumpkins I’d carved, labels I’d seen in Tesco, snow cocks I’d made or card’s I’d bought, my photo time line was allllll about how funny the boaby/willy/knob/cock was. I must have the sense of humour of an 8 year old boy because drawing, or making a cock and balls is still THE most natural thing to do when I see an empty space and a pen. Christiaan warned me when we bought Eli’s blackboard that I WASN’T to draw a cock and balls on it… he clearly doesn’t understand it’s the LAW but I did wait till the wee man was in bed at least. Not Christiaan’s wee man, his OTHER wee man: Eli.

So anyway, it’s Thursday and we have no plumbers here (bar a fleeting visit to check everything was OK) and I am not trapped in the living room again with the furry arseholes and chewy smells. The pressure is off, well actually it’s ON because OH MY DAYS do I love having instant hot water spurting out of my taps with gay abandon. I genuinely didn’t think I would be excited about having better, hotter water but I am, I have been round every tap, every shower and exclaimed “Oh aye, look at that, much better”. I was enjoying it until I got to our en-suite. Now our en-suite is like Narnia. I know it’s just on the other side of the wall but I NEVER go there. When we first moved in we loved the idea of having a toilet, a sink and shower so close…. after a week we were shitting ourselves; quite literally. There’s a Saniflow in there. For those of you who don’t know what that is it’s a macerating toilet, otherwise known as the jobby goblin in this house. Imagine it’s 2am, you’ve woken up from your slumber and you just need to sneak out of bed for a little tinkle. You tip toe into the en-suite, spend a penny, wipe your fanjo, flush the toilet then: “GNNNNNNNNDDADDDDUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH” The entire house hold is now awake, people in the next town think Al Qaida have arrived and you’re stood there looking like you’ve just been Tango’d. I have never, ever, EVER, experienced a louder, more sinister sounding toilet in all my days. I actually feared putting my arse on the seat in case it bit me. After a few days Christiaan and I decided we didn’t trust it, and fucked it off never to be used again. We did however use the shower, which is one of those all in one units with jets and a rain shower thing, the water pressure was fucking awful but we persisted until it got together with the jobby goblin, which unbeknown to us, used the same pump and began to sing the song of its people at 2am EVERY NIGHT. We decided to just close the door on the en-suite and forget it existed. So, imagine my delight when the plumber said to me yesterday “your shower in the your bedroom should be working now”… OHHHHHHH! They’d had to remove the pump because it went bat shit with the water pressure we were now and connected it to the mains, so there was no fear of the jobby goblin getting involved at all now, in fact he was going to get me a price for installing a normal, non jobby munching toilet. Off I went, to check it out.

In the days of the pump we had to rest the shower head on the floor, switch it and wait for it to decide we were worthy of a wash. So that’s what I did. Except… well I’d clearly had a wee jet power wash last time I was in and had left the shower set up to fire water out of the side jets rather than the shower head.  I had the shower doors open and as I bent over to stare into the shower head, wondering where the water was, the fucking jets got me. Cold, old water all spraying me in my actual face and going fucking everywhere. I got fucking soaking. Not only was I soaking but the wee ones jammas that I was holding were also soaking,  the en-suite which has not seen any activity for near on 4 years was soaking and the walls were soaking. I shut the shower off and closed the door again. I am now confident the shower was working without the pump. I’ll be giving it a clean tomorrow and moving all of my cleansing palaver back in. I SHALL shower with a sea view, and yes the neighbours may well see me…… I give none of the fucks.

Eejit.

In other news I went OUT today. I’d arranged to meet a friend who has unfortunately also been recently diagnosed with M.E. for a coffee, so that’s what we did. We exchanged woes and compared symptoms but also had a laugh and it was bittersweet really; rotten that someone else is going through this, but good to have someone to share it with. I was home an hour and a bit later having driven there and back but it almost felt like quite a normal thing to do? I met a friend for coffee, well tea… just like other people do every day.  I’ve said before that it’s the small things that really make you think and actually make it obvious you’re not living a normal life and it really is. I was people watching while we were in there, as I always do, I love being a nosey bastard and I shit you not there were pensioners in that cafe who were more spritely than I was. Jumping out of their seats like they were in their 20’s with a waft of lavender and a certain pazzazz as they met their pals for calorie laden cake and endless cups of tea. Now they most likely pissed themselves getting up and would only eat 3 grams of cake before they returned to their quiet lives but I was momentarily jealous. Of pensioners. The majority had cake AND mobility, and so what if they were talking to dead Jean from 1942 and they thought it was the 92nd of Julember? They were content with it.

The drive home only took a few minutes but it really did get me wondering what life had laid ahead for me. Now don’t worry I didn’t go deep and meaningful, I mean I tried, I even drove down to the beach to “be at one with my thoughts” but…. well its fucking boring innit?  So I got out of the car and took a few snaps of the glorious day instead; now I’ll admit these were very much point and click because I had my blackout sun glasses on and could see very little on the phone screen, but it shows you what a beautiful, wild and glorious day it was; what it doesn’t show you is that it felt about -43 in the fucking wind – it could have smacked the smile from Brian Cox this wind. For those of you that aren’t local, that’s Edinburgh across the water and if you look to the far right of picture 1 you’ll see all three Forth bridges together. The second pic shows Inchkeith island which has some fucked up tales of history if you fancy having a read.

After my 12 seconds of inner reflection I drove home, collapsed on the couch and I’ve got to say… I’ve not really moved since bar throwing some dinner together. Health wise, today is no different than the last few – I’m struggling so I won’t go on and on telling you the same shit. Hopefully you know by now; it’s just a big steaming pile of donkey dung… with flies….. and beasties all over it… in the sun…in 30 degree heat.

Christiaan has booked Tuesday off next week to see if having Eli one day less on my own will help. I’m grateful for him trying, and I know that day itself will be a fuck tonne easier because hes around but I’m also not holding my breath for a remarkable improvement on my overall health. Primarily because I asked a question on one the ME/CFS parent boards last night; how long does a flare/crash normally last for you? I was genuinely expecting at least a handful to tell me they came out the other side in a week or two. Months or years was the answer. Fuck. I wasn’t expecting that. I can only hope that my body and brain has got the memo: I want to be better and I desperately want to get back to work.

Today though, well today has ended on a massive massive high for me. One of “the girls” aka the internet Mums group I’ve been chatting in for the last few years gave me some valuable advice a few weeks ago; try and get your blog out there with Tots100. So I did. I filled in a special form alongside a billion other blogging parents and I heard nothing, but I was alright with that, blogging isn’t something you do well overnight and I know I have more to learn than I already know. I’d try again in a wee while. Then I noticed something on my stats tonight; a direct click from Tots100. So I went on their site… and I found THIS … I’ve only gone and made the bloody short list for April aint I? HOLY FUCK BALLS.

Of course, I have absolutely no idea of the significance but in just 5 weeks I’ve been a guest blogger for those two amazing lads at Two Chubby Cubs, been contacted by a BBC reporter who’s offered some great advice and now….now this. It’s a wee bit exciting… maybe I’m alright at it orrrrrrrrrrrr maybe I just know how to fill a good form in and they have a quota. I’ll not going to start signing autographs or owt, especially not on blank cheques so you can piss off.

I’m going to stop now because I might jinx it….

 

So today’s synopsis:

  • Highlights
    • I am a celebrity superstar etc
    • Lovely lovely water pressure
    • Feeling like a normalton “going out for coffee”
    • Trying to find my inner self
  • Lowlights
    • A health reality check
    • I got drenched
    • My inner self is a boring arsehole and should not be explored
  • What’s on the menu Mellars?
    • Overnight oats for breakfast which were LUSH
    • Roasted butternut squash and onion with cajun spices for lunch – odd I know but it’s what I fancied
    • Dinner – my “famous” Two Chubby Cubs pasta

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