You’ll be pleased to hear that fame hasn’t changed me overnight. I mean, sure, I woke up, full of anticipation and lay in bed waiting for a servant to come and open my curtains, but it looks like they’re either a lazy bastard or have the day off. Fine, I’ll open my own fucking curtains.
I’m still on a bit of a high from the whole Tots100 thing, I keep going back onto the site and reading the synopsis for my bit and comparing it with the others to see if I can tell if she liked it any more or less than the other 6. I’ve no idea. Funny how we do that ain’t it? We achieve something good and all of a sudden we want to try and pick holes in it or make it out to be less special than it is. I see it all the time, in different sorts of exchanges; someone says “Oh I like your dress, it really brings out the colour of your…. fangs” and you say “£11 Asda” in return because you don’t want them thinking you’ve spent grown up amounts of money on a garment to cover your knockers and vag, and actually a compliment is embarrassing. I’m one of those people, I’ll ignore the lovely thing you’ve said and concentrate instead on devaluing the compliment. I think there are a lot of us out there but there is also a whooooole other camp. A camp of people that when you compliment them, will not stop fucking talking. They will try and convince you that what you are looking at is more beautiful than a unicorn singing a Stevie Wonder song while painting the Garden of Eden. Now they’re not narcissists, no that’s an entirely different bag of crazy, these people are: pocket botherers.
- Them “Oh I like your dress”
- You: “Look, it has a pockets!”
Now I don’t know why it’s so fucking important and it’s really not a new phenomenon, in fact if you Google “it has pockets” you’ll find a bazillion Meme’s in all likelihood but well, I was trying to make a point and I’ve gone off for a mental walk by the looks of it…. all will become clear later on BUT my point was I’m determined not to do that with my blog mention. I’m not going to say “Thanks, it’s a bit sweary” or “Thanks its probably full of mistakes” or “Thanks, it’s a bit rough round the edges” or anything else fucking stupid like that, I don’t want to point out the cost or the pockets in order to detract away from the pride. I’m taking it at face value; a lovely plug for something I enjoy doing. Done.
It was an odd day today. Christiaan had to actually go INTO the office today rather than working from home so I was dropping Eli at nursery. Now, Christiaan normally does nursery drop off because it works well – Eli’s 100% fine, totters off and waits to look through the intercom at Daddy waving bye. If I drop him it genuinely looks like a Social Services scene; he’s wailing and sobbing, snot bubbles coming out, red face and clinging to any bit of me he can while I try and hold myself together walking away – honestly, Eastenders could film it one shoot, it’s SO dramatic. So I was dreading it this morning. He was grand in the car happily pointing out the zebras and monkeys that he ALWAYS see’s in the farmers field on the way (there are none) and singing a mangled version of 10 green bottles; it was going great.
We pull up to the nursery, I unbuckle him from the car and we walk v slowly up to the gates, press the buzzer and then go into the nursery where he…. well he just fucking totters off doesn’t he. He could not be less fucking bothered if I was there or if I was half way to the moon. I had been so geared up for the histrionics that I kind of stood there with my gob open before I remembered that the spell might break at any second so, I legged it. Well not quickly, because, well M.E. but I didn’t stop and sniff the flowers. Fuck me, my baby really is growing up. Or does it just not suit him to be a dick today? Who knows but Friday was off to a good start… and it could only get better on burger Friday (come onnnnnnnnnn, you didn’t forget did you?).
What a fucking arsehole I was to presume it was going to keep unfurling into the best day ever. It didn’t , actually it turned out that as WELL as it being burger Friday it was also “Sarah is a massive bell end” day. What do you mean that’s every day? No it fucking isn’t. Cheeky bastard. Anyway, today I’m MORE of a bell end than I was even yesterday because….. I’ve really over done it and I’ve destroyed myself a bit. I wish I could tell you that it was 3 hours in a bed with Tom Hardy what dunnit it but, well you’d not believe me would you? Everyone knows if I was anywhere near a bed I’d be fast a-fucking-sleep, Tom Hardy or not. So what did it? Very little by a normaltons standards I reckon, in fact it would probably be what you’d consider a normal morning to be fair. *sigh*
So after dropping Eli off I should have gone home. Simple as that. I should have gone home; because as feeble as it sounds that’s more than I would normally have done by 8am and actually quite a big ask when I’m midst crash/flare, but no, I was a cock, I had a £10 off when you spent £50 coupon for B & Q mocking me from my purse and I needed a few more plants so I dragged my arse round the store, got what I needed and then drove home. I should have stopped there, I knew at that point I was fucked. Definitely. I should have stopped….no, no, stay where you are reader there is still more arseholery to come, get ready to judge me as I tell you I then decided to pot the plants out, hang out some washing, put the shopping away, hoover and tidy the ensuite and THEN take a shower. It doesn’t sound a lot, and combined it all took less than an hour and a half but actually, it was way too much. I knew it was way too much because payback didn’t even have the courtesy to wait until I was finished, it arrived mid way through my shower – the last thing I had wanted to get done. It’s almost 8 hours later and I can still barely move, my body has turned to lead, my words have gone, I feel like every nerve is shaking and my head is swimming. I had no choice but to sleep earlier and it’s made not a bit of difference; I AM A FUCKING IDIOT but also… LIFE! If you’re listening to me, you need to sort your fucking shit out, that is NOT my idea of a heavy morning’s graft, I should be able to do that in between an actual morning of work. It fucking sucks. All of it.
Why did I do it? I did it because I’m frustrated. I over analyse myself ALL.THE.TIME. it’s one of my biggest failings I think and this morning I went into overdrive. Christiaan was out of the house, i.e. he wasn’t there to stop me being a tit, and I get so fucked off with it all I get to thinking “Well if I’m going to be knackered I may as well be knackered having done something useful”. I have no idea why I let that side of me take over sometimes because it never, ever, ends well. OK, I get the thing done but I’ve been a mess for the rest of the day and that will likely continue all through the weekend; and all because I wanted to prove to myself I could have a normal morning. What a wanker.
Now don’t get me wrong, the reasons I wanted the THINGS done are all really valid but I know, and Christiaan knows, and you probably know by now if you’ve been reading from the start that I need to pace. There’s a theory in the medical world that people with M.E. manufacture energy in a completely different way to those who don’t. So your body for instance, will generate enough energy for you to complete both aerobic tasks and anaerobic tasks which covers both physical and mental exertion but my body… well my body fucks off half way through for a mince pie and a nice sit down. It basically doesn’t generate energy in the same way; it gets confused. Think of going into, I dunno, Boots; you have a sandwich meal deal that entitles you to a sarnie, a packet of crisps and a drink – and you can have all of that for a billion dollars. Great. Fill your boots! If my body was to go into Boots it would choose the sarnie OR the crisps but not both and it would probably not even be arsed to look for the drink; this is what it does with energy. It doesn’t realise it should manufacture enough energy for me to do everything, it chooses to just do a wee bit then gets a bit bored; as a result I’m a bit like a battery than only ever partially charges; I am the antithesis of the Duracel bunny. Having no energy causes huge problems because a lot of my M.E. symptoms are driven by extreme exhaustion; the sore bits, the heavy bits, the forgetting your words, the memory problems etc. are all related to being absolutely fucking knackered because your body is not getting it’s shit together manufacturing energy in the right way. Well that’s the current medical thinking anyway. They have proven nothing yet because until very recently the medical community thought M.E. patients were all mental so weren’t arsed at looking into into it. The first reported cases of M.E. were in the 30’s, that’s almost 90 years of dismissing people, THAT’S how far behind we are with understanding what this is and what drives it.
So there you go, I’ve been a bell end, which means it’s more of a struggle to write today, which means it’s taken way longer to write this because I’ve needed more breaks, which means it’s probably a bit shite: Soz, I’ll try and be more of a lazy bastard going forward to ensure your entertainment isn’t affected 😉
For now though, I’m off….call it harvesting energy for tomorrow. I really really want to get my wee boy down the park tomorrow to see some squirrels, it’s highly unlikely given my stupid behaviour today but I remain positive because, well, why the fuck not?
- I did all of the things!
- I had a shower in the bedroom ensuite for the first time in about 3.5 years. My boobs saw the sea, the sea saw my boobs, it was a happy moment
- The garden is starting to look a wee bit brighter and we now have some strawberry plants planted in a raised trough for buggerlugs to “look after” and grow some fruit
- Eli didn’t cry at drop off
- I’ve fucked myself up royally
- I’m a bell end
- I may have screwed up the entire weekend
- What’s on the menu Mellars?
- Breakfast – a yoghurt
- Lunch – roasted cajun butternut squash and onion
- Dinner – BURGER, chips and salad ❤