Shopping, awkward conversation and murder

Wednesday the 3rd of May 2018

Where in the name of the wee man has all the sunshine gone? I mean seriously – has the universe not got the memo about summer being just round the corner? It’s really fucking cold out there.

How do I know it’s cold? I stay indoors all the time right? HAHA…. NO, FUCK YOU. I WENT OUT! Boom! To the outside! With the other people! TO A SHOP! Actually to 2 shops and a Gregg’s. My predictions of walking in and buying the first thing that fitted were incredibly accurate. I spent approximately 7 minutes in Debenhams and 2 of them were trying not fall off the escalator going up and down; I have trouble knowing when to step on and off those bastard things at the best of times, but now that my spacial awareness has gone to shit I reckon I looked a bit like an orangutan on a surfboard – there was a lot of arm movement, swaying and chuffing and I STILL did that half trip up when I got off. I got off the stairway of death, took 5 steps forward, picked up a jacket, put it on, thought “aye that’ll do! It covers my fanjo and there’s no over hang. Sorted!”. Then I took a picture for you crowd, grabbed a jumper in my size too (not because I liked it especially, I just needed a jumper) and went to the till. I was over the fucking moon to find out it had 40% off so paid with glee and then went on my merry way to get back down to the ground floor without killing myself; done.

The pics above detail my journey and as you can see, I didn’t enjoy it. I spent more time walking from where I’d parked the car than actual shopping and I put on my best “I am unimpressed with shopping face” for you in picture one – you’re welcome, no really you should be saying thank you, because I looked a right twat photographing myself in the middle of the high street for a bunch of people I mostly don’t know on the interwebs.

The inevitable happened though I ran into a few people I know. Some who know I’ve not been keeping great and scurried off so as not to have to make conversation, some who knew and stopped for a brief chat before releasing me back into the wild and then… then some who had no idea. I dread the conversations with people who don’t know the most, primarily because I KNOW I look very different in lots of different ways from the last time they saw me. It’s confusing for people to be fair; I’ve dropped a chunk of weight and that makes me look better in terms of being a fat bastard BUT I’m not able to sort my hair properly or get some make up on just now, which is a huge change from before – so I look a bit like a thinner Captain Caveman version of my old self. I suspect the only conclusion they can come to is that I’ve had a breakdown so its always a really uncomfortable start to a conversation. They then attempt to deliver a compliment because they want me to KNOW that they’ve noticed I’m less fat and assure me they haven’t noticed the rest, so it’s normally something along the lines of “Oh you look really well Sarah!” then they continue to stare at my hedgehog eyebrows and afro while furrowing their brow trying to work out why I’m so unkempt. Now, what the fuck am I meant to say to that Doreen? I look WELL? Are you fucking kidding? You and I both know that what you mean is “Fuck! You’ve lost loads of weight but you’ve really let yourself go” and I know Doreen, I KNOW that when I tell you I’m not keeping so great that you’re going to feel really awkward and start looking like there’s an articulated lorry falling from the sky, or worse you’ll say something really fucking stupid like “Well you’d never guess you were ill from looking at you”. I think we can all agree that’s bullshit Doreen; you’ve just watched that 98 year old piss riddled pensioner lap me twice on the way to the shop. I’m either ill or fucking lazy – either way DOREEN you’ve noticed something’s not right. So, I generally half lie and say something like “Well given how knackered I am Doreen, I’ll take that – looking well is half the battle”, it’s just enough to hint that everything is not rosie in the garden and she should shut her cake hole before I trap her in a well of self pity. I’m basically acknowledging her compliment and the fact that I look shite AND I’ve given her the hint of reasoning without all of the details; everyone should be happy with that. I mean some aren’t, some then go on and ask really personal fucking questions, and then of course you get all of the cures that Auntie Charlotte’s pet donkey tried that worked. GIVE.ME.FUCKING.STRENGTH. Quite literally!

People mean well though, and I’d never deliberately make them feel like a tit about trying to be nice. I’ve absolutely no problem with saving my efforts making the arseholes look worse instead. It was awkward, but we eventually parted company and set off back to the car at a snails pace. Dotty P’s was on the way so I swung in, as you do, and picked up some new jeans (next size down again don’t you know) and THEN I went all hunter gatherer and went to Greggs to get our Christiaan a sausage, cheese and bean pastry thing. That was all I bought, even though I was salivating at thought of some serious alone time with the entire shop contents…. I resisted. I did however, nearly snatch a sausage roll from a toddler on the way back out – he was fucking around with it rather than savouring every mouthful of pig foreskins and arseholes. He was doing it wrong. Ungrateful freeloader. What can I say? Puff pastry does funny things to me and I miss it deeply since I joined fat club. EVERYTHING savoury tastes so much better wrapped in pastry I think, not so much sweet stuff, you can keep that bullshit, I mean proper pies, bridies (Scottish pasties), sausage rolls, cheese…. oh fuck me, I’d demolish it all at the drop of a hat. Well 4 mouthfuls probably, because I have the appetite of a gnats bollock. I didn’t though, I bought Christiaan’s thing and left.

By far and away the hardest part of my 40 minute door to door extravaganza was the walk back to the car. I had started out with gusto to get to the shop, because, well I was on a mission wasn’t I? Must find jacket. Also, my version of gusto is probably worlds away from yours, mine is a bit more….. cha cha slide meets a lion who’s had a stroke, but either way it had knackered me so by the time my bargain fuelled adrenaline wore off I was dead on my feet. So much so that when I got back to the car, I had to have a nice rest just for a few mins to let my bones calm down and stop screaming before I tried to drive. It was then that I received the latest threat from the winged mafia.

If it’s not bad enough that Davie and Agnes are making it abundantly clear that we’re only safe in OUR house because we pay the mortgage they’ve now started sending Big Susan out to find me and remind me that my position in this relationship is precarious. There I was, sat in the car, minding my own business when she lands on the bonnet smoking a cigar. Now I wasn’t quick enough to grab my phone so I have no proof she was on the car, and it turns out the cigar was actually a razor clam which was worse because, well, she then murdered it and ate it right in front of me.

How fucking brutal is that? Now I’m not proud of what I did next but I panicked a bit. I started the engine and only meant to rev it to frighten her and hopefully save the clam (although where the fuck I thought it was going with no arms or legs on dry land is beyond me) but it turns out I’d left the car in gear. So I stalled. The car bunny hopped forward and I guess it COULD look to passers by that I was trying to run Big Susan over. I wasn’t, I’m just really shit at frightening birds. So if you’re that old man in Dunelm Mill car park who gave me the evil eye, I hope you now understand. I have been tormented by these winged fucknuggets for weeks now. I’m a woman on the edge, but I would never try and kill one deliberately, not even one who was smoking a cigar.

See this is why its better I stay in, I’m a liability to myself and others. Still… at least I got a jacket.

It’ll not surprise you to hear that buying the jacket, and almost killing Big Susan has knocked the wind from my sails a bit so, here I am, 2 hours later, on the sofa with my beloved blankie and I’m utterly utterly fucked. The pain is pretty hideous but I guess not as bad as Tuesday so I’m still in credit there, and Christiaan has spoken to my gaffer and explained the latest with my health, or lack of it, so he knows I’ll not be back next week.

I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about not being at work, but actually I reckon it would be wrong if I didn’t; I’m being paid to be sat at home and I know work could really do with my help just now. Not so much doing the physical tasks I do, anyone could probably do them, but I serve a lot of different purposes to a lot of different people and I know (hopefully without sounding like a massive ego) that’s not something everyone can walk into and help with. I’m probably not explaining it very well but I guess what I’m trying to say is that my absence will be having an impact, not in terms of one head down, but in the context of what I deliver and how. I don’t really know what the answer to that conundrum is though; I’m not fit or able and there’s not another me to step in so I guess we’re in a really shitty situation where no one is getting what they want.

IMG_1525354532921.jpg

I do wish I knew how long this dip would last though, only a few weeks ago I was managing everything, OK somewhat precariously it’s gotta be said, but I was working, I was mumming and I was wifing. Then I created a blog called TryingToDoItAll and cursed myfuckingself – note to karma; well played you evil bastard. I nearly wrote cunt instead of bastard there. I know it’s one of those words that has people shuddering or pursing their lips like a cats arsehole but honestly, up here, the majority (not all it should be said) use cunt, along with all of the swears as part of their day to day vocabulary – depending on where you’ve been brought up people don’t bat an eye. See being called a cunt can also be term of endearment up here n all, “ocht he’s a cunt, but he’s a guid cunt, he’d day onyhing for onybody” can be heard in almost every pub you walk into. I’ll let you Google it, or not, keep wondering… whatevs.

In saying that, I’m not sure Janey Godley was using it affectionately here, but who gives a shit, she was bang on. If I had the energy I’d be rocking up to auld Queenies hoose on the 13th of July to give his balls a swift kicking and I’d sit Terrahawk May down and give her a piece of my mind n all the evil pointy harpie. Hark at me being all political and shit!

Trump

Right then, today’s synopsis:

  • Highlights
    • I have a jacket!
    • I went outside into actual shops and everything
    • I did not roll in sausage rolls, nor steal one from a toddler
    • I’ve gone down another size in troosers
  • Lowlights
    • Big Susan freaked me the fuck out and I nearly killed her
    • R.I.P Razor Clam
    • I ran into “people I know” when I was out and it was all a bit awkward
    • It’s freezing out there
    • Work is very much out of my reach and everyone now knows it
  • What’s on the menu Mellars?
    • Breakfast was a yoghurt and fruit
    • Lunch – left over sausage casserole from last night
    • Dinner – Bean casserole and rice. I know it sounds frugal but it’s right nice, honest.

#meawarenessuk #silentillness #tryingtodoitall #swearymum

If you’ve just started reading the blog you’re probably wondering what’s going on at this point – I blog every day. You can start at the very beginning by selecting Menu and then…. Well…. The Beginning.

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