Gro Fuck Yourself Clock, garden sofas and a reality check

4.45am.

That’s what time bollockchops starting crying this morning. I’m clinging on to the fact that these back molars are cutting and that’s why we’re up even earlier than normal most mornings. Teething is a fucking nonsense – mother nature should have sorted this shit out a long time ago, if teeth are essential make them grow quickly and without the fucking drama. Maybe she’s in business with Calpol? It would make sense given the sheer volume of the stuff we seem to go through. So he was awake, again, the Gro Fuck Yourself Clock has been no bastarding use whatsoever. Maybe it’s used to actually commanding an audience rather than the blatant indifference my glorious wee wombfruit is showing it? He could not give less of a shit, and in fact this morning demanded “Where’s my sunshine?” of the clock before we left his bedroom. He was pretty much accusing the clock of being  a lazy bastard and not keeping up; he’s going to be a terrific boss one day – he’s got that blame and guilt culture already nailed.

I slept a bit better last night thankfully. There was far less pain and no shakes/tremors and I managed good chunks of sleep, so given the early start again this morning I reckoned it was only fair to let Christiaan, aka Goldilocks, get some more sleep while I took the fruit of loins downstairs. To play jigsaws obvs. He loves jigsaws more than I can fathom; I mean I’m fond of a jigsaw but it’s not top of my to do list on a morning, for Eli though, jigsaws are life (alongside monkeys). Now I’d not mind if he just twatted about on his own doing them but he’s got into the habit of asking for your hand ALL THE FUCKING TIME to go through to the play room for more. It’s not that he can’t manage to reach them or carry them by the way, he’s just idle. Christiaan often plays along, but I genuinely don’t want to use what little energy I’ve got walking back and forward like a pyjama’d mule – he can sort it out himself or he can cry, those are his options. Pretty difficult to turn down this wee face right enough, he’s a beaut, but don’t let the angelic smile fool you –  he can be an absolute arsehole at the drop of a pin.

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I’m chuffed to say the morning passed pretty uneventfully, I got Eli to eat breakfast which was a definite win given recent days twattery, I got him dressed for nursery and we just ticked over until Christiaan got up and got him off to nursery.

It’s at that point I have a choice; full steam ahead and try and get showered, dressed and breakfast etc or “rest” which can either be with or without sleep. Today I had no choice but to sleep but do you know what, I’d nowhere to be and nothing urgent to do so I didn’t fight it or feel fucked off (for too long) about the situation – I shut the fuck up and went to bed. For an hour. Which actually turned into three and a half hours. Even then it was a struggle to get up, but it was 11.30 and I really didn’t want to sleep the day away – you really do feel like a hermit at times with this. Not that I need to find the cure to baldness or anything, I mean my day just ticks over, but I did need to phone the insurance company and have a shower – those were the only two things I NEEDED to achieve today.

Now, I don’t want boast, but…. well I’ve overachieved for the day. I have significantly exceeded expectations.  I got clean, OK so I had to have a nice sit down for 25 minutes after but I am now no longer  looking or smelling like a homeless. I cooked myself some brunch seeing as I had slept through breakfast and then I called the insurance company. I had been gearing myself up for the 40 minute wait time so got caught off guard when they picked up after 3 minutes; unfortunately for them I was mid way putting my sock back on which takes a bit of doing these days so it probably sounded like I was having a sexy fiddle to their hold music…. what can I say? Celine Dion does that to me; the sound of her harpie nasally whaling voice just pushes my button. I didn’t tell Amy on the end other of the phone what was going on; let her fucking wonder, I’m an enigma and enigma’s don’t justify themselves. They generally have more exciting shit going on than getting socks on though.

I’ve got to say that the whole conversation with the insurance company was a lot easier than I’d anticipated given recent dealings. My head is fucked though so we we did have a lot of crossed wires when I sent her through the plumbers invoice and she thought I was trying to claim for a new combi boiler rather than the roof repairs. Utterly my fault for being vague – fuck you brain fog. Anyway, after a lot of  to me, to you, Chuckle Brother action I did say she could pay for a new boiler if she wanted and that I also needed a yacht but she cottoned on and quickly saw through my bullshit. Anyway, she likely thinks I need to be institutionalised but to get me off the phone she agreed to sort it out so I’ve got some money winging our way to get ceiling vag fixed so fingers crossed it wont be long till the whole fucking palaver is over and done with. Here is how she’s looking now she’s had her gushy gash fixed.

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So that’s my hard days work done, sounds pathetic doesn’t it? A shower and a phone call is as much as I’ve done all day? It is. You don’t need to try and make me feel better about it all – it just fucking is but, there’s no point trying to spend millions when you’ve only got pennies in your pocket, and today my friends, I only have pennies…. so that’s all I’ve spent. I’m not in energy debt, I’ve not over done it, there will be no pay back later on or tomorrow from today’s activity; today is a day when I’ve had the luxury of taking things a bit slower,whether it’s slow enough… who knows, but if I go any slower I’ll have stopped.

I had really wanted to get out in the garden for 10-15 mins just to pull a few weeds but it’s been a mad weather day here. Blue skies and sunshine one minute and grey and pissing down the next; I decided that the worms would all be waiting to bite my fucking fingers off anyway so I’d be just as well leaving it till tomorrow.

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You see the bit over the water that looks like a hole in the sky? If you look straight down from that it’s Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh and to the right is the city. If I could have got the binoculars working through the phone I’d have shown you the outline of Edinburgh Castle n all, but I couldn’t and to be honest I wasn’t arsed about trying too hard. You’ll just need to believe me – it’s there.

So anyway, look at the wet ground, that was when I woke up so I didn’t get in the garden but I do want to do a wee bit over the next few days because *FANFARE* we have ordered new garden furniture and a garden rug to make the place look less like…. prison. A friend told me I should, and she’s right – I could be making better use of that space, even if it is shit. The furniture in question is one of them wicker sofa sets and I’m a bit suspicious because, well they look flimsy and I’m used to solid wood (schnarf) but it wasn’t too expensive and I think it’ll be comfy enough. It’s a massive L shape thing with deep cushions and a table and some stools for bollockchops. I’m hoping it’ll be long enough for me to lie down on if I need to, but at the very least I’ll be able to sit up with my legs up; the thinking being of course that when it warms up a bit I can be relaxing outside getting some fresh air and vitamin D instead of being caged up in the house. I’ll need to buy stronger sunglasses to block all the goodness out obvs.

I’m sat here having a wee moment of reflection because…. I’m supposed to be back at work next week and although I could be stubborn and say I’ll give it a go, I don’t think I can. Not after the last few weeks; I’m foggier,  weaker and in more pain that I was before I broke off so I’m clearly  either not at the eye of the storm yet, OR I am here and it’s all up from here on in (I’m praying its the latter). Either way, I’m not in good enough shape to put my game face on and pretend I can get through an 8.5 hour day – not when a conversation with an insurance firm and a shower is the pinnacle of my days achievements. I’d probably manage an hour or two before I’d buckle and need to sleep and then… well, it would take days to recover from that small amount of graft. It’s a shitty trade.

When I went off work a few weeks back I genuinely believed it would only be a week or two and I’d probably not use the full 4 weeks on my sick note; now I’m beginning to see that maybe the doc knows her shit and it was never going to happen. I’ll be going back to see her next week and it’s likely I’ll be off for a while yet… but I WILL get back and that’s what I need to keep in sight. How people feel OK with fiddling long term sick is beyond me; to me it’s degrading and career limiting and my pride may as well have been run over by a pelican driving a fluorescent pink digger; it’s pretty humiliating to say you can’t cope with a days graft, especially when its not manual graft – it involves being sat on my arse all day.

These are helping though, my weekly treat of fresh flowers from that epic husband of mine. If it weren’t for him I’d be in a far shittier, lonelier place – thank you gorgeouschops, you’re not a bad sort you know.  ❤

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I’ve got high hopes for tomorrow; I want to see if I can find a new jacket. I’ve exhausted all online options and returned so much that I’m seriously am considering asking the MyHermes bloke if he wants to move in. He’s here more than is comfortable for either him or I and we’re running out of day to day chit chat, the weather is always off its head and I’m running out of excuses for looking like I belong in an asylum. Poor fucker has seen me in some states, I bet I’m not the only one though and I nearly always have my bra on so it could be worse.  So, tomorrow, I want to get showered and try to get out to…. AN ACTUAL SHOP. Just one mind, I’m not wild. There’s a Debenhams close by and it’s tiny. I’ve worked out that the whole trip from door to door should take well under an hour, 30 mins if I play my cards right so I’m hoping that I can manage it. I reckon that’s as ambitious as is sensible given current constraints and knowing me I’ll just buy the first thing that fits so that the whole experience is over as quickly as possible; fucking hate shopping I do.

Brace yourselves, if I fail, I’m handing the responsibility of clothing me over to you crowd, I’m fucked off with it.

So, today, it’s looked like this:

  • Highlights
    • I got showered
    • I called the insurance company and it’s sorted
    • I collected Eli from nursery
    • The pain is far less than yesterday and I managed a good day of “rest”
  • Lowlights
    • Weathers a bit shite so it pissed all over my plans to do a wee bit in the garden
    • I’ve accepted work is beyond me for now, albeit temporarily
    • I’m in a shit way – you know this already so I’m not going to bang on about it
  • What’s on the menu Mellars?
    • Breakfast – erm… sleep
    • Lunch – a wee bit of tagliatelle with a mound of mushrooms and onions stirred through with some garlic and herb Philadelphia light
    • Dinner – Heck chicken Italia sausage casserole and wedges

 

Until tomorrow people ❤

#mecfs #myalgic encephalomyelitis #chronic fatigue syndrome #swearymum #tryingtodoitall

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