Spammer extraordinaire, brioche and bank holidays

Saturday the 5th of May

Yet again I’ve sat down knowing I want to write but I’ve no idea what it’s going to contain,  I mean obviously it would be a shite diary if it didn’t outline my day, that’s a given, but, well I don’t really do owt at the minute so, it’s dull…. the rest of content is basically just my brain not just farting, but following through all over the screen. Now that could be either good news or bad news for you crowd, lets see how it pans out tonight but soz in advance.

Firstly, thanks for the epic responses on last nights post. I love it when people comment or react to something I’ve written, I can’t explain it, but it’s just lovely. Actually I can explain it, I clearly have a massive ego that needs fed. I’m really grateful you crowd take an interest, whether that be in me, or M.E. or even just the swears; it can be isolating and frustrating trying to get people to see you, your illness and your life in a way that doesn’t provoke sympathy or pity. I’m shit with all of the fluffy emotional stuff, especially since having Eli, it makes my eyes leak for reasons I can’t comprehend and I go all feminine and what not, so I avoid it like a dose of the shits.

I stumbled over someone this morning on one of the  M.E./CFS Facebook pages I halfheartedly check in on some days who was struggling to get her family and friends to understand what’s going on with her, and without really giving it a lot of thought I told her that she could share my blog if she thought that would help explain. It’s an easy way out innit – read something that someone else has written, there’s no individual accountability in terms of opinion, lots of not so subtle perceptions and a fuck tonne of  content in terms of common symptoms and their affects. I mean, it’s personal to me because I write it but if you cut through the irrational swearing and ranting there are some pretty pertinent points.

Little did I know I was committing the most heinous offence possible on a virtual page full of people I do not know; I should never, by pain of death, be promoting a blog in response to someone asking for help. Noooo, it’s “spam”. Fucking spam! Me! I mean in one way I was flattered because, well Spam is a household name but… I didn’t promise her a 6 inch cock, or a Nigerian Prince for 12 billion dollars. I directed her to my diary. A diary that I get nothing in return for. How the fuck is that spam? I agree that they should protect the vulnerable on the page from callous fuckers trying to make money from illness, and they should absolutely not jeopardise the integrity of the page but… she asked for help, and that’s what I offered. In my own way.  As she deleted it, the gaffer of the page also suggested it wasn’t personal but my blog wasn’t helpful because I focused on Bigfoot last night rather than moaning and playing my violin. So there you go folks, I’m not “M.E-Y” (Me.-eee-eee? fuck knows) enough. It seems that if I want you to TRULY understand the daily struggles of your average M.E. riddled person this blog should only be about how life crippling my illness is. Ready for that?

No? Good, because you’ll be chuffed to hear I called bullshit all over that one. I write because I enjoy it and you lot, as misguided as you are seem to come back for more, in fact some of you bring your pals too. If I made it 100% about how shit it all is, what else is there? How many of you would KEEP reading if this was just a stage for me to point out my aches and woes? I’d not read it if I were you, fuck, I’d be bored to tears. So I’m sure as fuck not going to be censored by someone I don’t know, and I refuse to become consumed by the illness either. Fuck you and your pity party lady chops, you stop in your bubble of self pity if that’s helping you – I’m going to take the Irvine Welsh approach. I’m choosing life.

Now I’m not arrogant, and I’m not pissed off because my ego has been dented because she didn’t like my blog *sob* but it highlights the issues with the one dimensional “I’m so fucking ill” Facebook groups. They are CONSUMED by a group of prolific posters who invariably want a fucktonne of attention, or pity, or vindication after acting a bit cunty. The folks that have genuine questions post through desperation a lot of the time and that lass today? She was one who needed help and she’ll not get mine now because someone else deemed what I’m doing here as irrelevant and deleted my response while trying to  give me a dressing down. That lass has now got suggestions of woe is me fucking Meme’s or cartoons and screenshots of medical leaflets… yeah that’ll do it. Everyone takes that sort of shit in. We all learn exactly the same way via the exact same media. Why not chuck in a picture of a giraffe smoking a joint n all – job done innit.

I did warn you it might all go to shit today didn’t I?

So anyway, besides that on paper it’s been alright so far today you know. The wee man woke up at 6 again and HOO-FUCKING-RAY he saw the sunshine coming up on his clock and was v excited. Finally he may have understood it’s purpose but I’d be surprised if it happened again tomorrow. I’d have been delighted with a 6am rise any other day but, well I’d shit myself up watching Sinner on Netflix last night and couldn’t sleep until gone 12 because I was freaked out. It wasn’t even scary; just disturbing and it meant every time I drifted off to sleep I shat myself back awake again. This is why I can’t watch horror films. I used to be able to when I was a teen, actually I used to read a lot of horror too but I clearly had balls of steel back then …. or I was going through a growth spurt and could sleep regardless, who knows, but I could have that shit in my brain and go to sleep without any trouble at all. Fast forward 20 years and I’ve turned into a massive pansy for reasons I cannot fathom; maybe it’s because I have more life experience now and I know really weird horrific stuff happens? I can’t watch horror at all, but psychological thrillers are normally alright, as are documentaries about gruesome shit like murders (unless it’s kiddy murders, that stuff haunts me for obvious reasons). I love a good murder documentary in fact all areas of human behaviour fascinate me, I spend a huge amount of my telly time watching factual stuff about people. I reckon that’s what drives my hatred of sci-fi, it’s just not real – I can’t begin to break it down into something that is logical and therefore my brain has a tantrum about it all.

It was a right gentle start to the morning though, and it’s lovely at the weekend. There’s no stress to get Eli sorted for nursery, or Christiaan or I ready for work, we can all just lounge about. Or we could, if we hadn’t created a tiny tiny dictator who stormed into the living room wearing his monster fake crocs demanding we go out. This happened while Christiaan was stark bollock naked on the stairs showing me a towel that looked like he’d just wiped his arse on it by the way. Apparently the water was running brown. It was an odd couple of minutes and I’ll admit I wasn’t sure who should demand my attention more. Christiaan won because he had his knob out and that seemed like a more urgent situation given that the window to spare room gave everyone full view He was right about the water though, it is brown, there’s a burst pipe further up the road much to the disgust of the village.

He’s not feeling too great is our Christiaan, nothing life threatening but his throat is red raw and he’s struggling with his sinuses. It’s a miserable state of affairs for him but he doesn’t feel like he can complain in front of me. Which is shit, because I know I don’t own the monopoly on being ill and I just want to look after him when he’s poorly, like he looks after me. Even if it is “just a wanky cold”. So Christiaan, I know you’re reading this my darlin, and I know I’ve said it a thousand times but; it’s OK to be poorly sick. It’s OK to feel shit. It’s OK to want to rest and it’s absolutely OK to be honest about it all ….but if you ever shit on my towels and blame a burst water pipe again I will flick you square in those sexy bollocks of yours, in full view of all of our neighbours.

So there you go, we’re both needing rubbed out and started again, but … well Eli had his crocs on, was demanding that fucking hat again and wanted to go and see Granny and Grandad, so we did. We were bullied by a 3 foot midget. Again. I made the best of it though and clocked up some more points in the epic daughter category by calling in via our local butchers, who, just so happen, make THE best square sausage ever. So I picked some up for their breakfast alongside some haggis and some rolls (or buns or baps or cobs or whatever the fuck you want to call them) and we went over to wreak havoc on their quiet morning.  I knew they had shit to do today so we didn’t stay for long, maybe an hour and a half? It was nice and gentle – just what we all needed. It all went a bit off piste from there though and it’s fair to say it landed in tears.

Fucking lunch time. I dread any meal times with Eli now if I’m honest. Unless I serve him the same old shit we’re generally at war. He just will not try things he doesn’t recognise at all normally but we’ve had limited success with brioche over the last few weeks. No, no, no, it’s not that we’re up our own arses, he just eats a really small selection of food and its fucking me off, so I’ve been trying ever since he begun weaning to get him eating a wider variety of food;  brioche was at the end of a long line of bread products that have mostly been rejected. 90% of it ends up in the bin still but he had taken a few nibbles before, so I went for it.  Only, today, I decided I’d mix it up a bit, instead of something sweet like jam I wondered what he’d think of some Philadelphia instead. Well, I’ll tell you what he thinks of that. He thinks it’s a steaming great bag of camel jizz. He actually screamed. With tears.  I left him to it for a few minutes so he could “bed in” just in case he changed his mind but, well, he upped his bat shit ante so I got some homemade soup out of the freezer and into the microwave toot sweet. What kind of fucked up child would prefer home made soup to a nice roll? He’s off his head.

Next came nap time. Normally quite a sedate affair to be honest, we have a chin wag about what he’s done that day while he cuddles into me and then he falls asleep and I pop him in the cot; it’s normally lovely. Today though? Fucking mental. We’d decided, based on what nursery had told us, that he could try sleeping without a muzzy (Muslin). Apparently he sleeps far better and nods off far quicker without one at nursery and I can believe it because 9 times out of 10 the little bugger uses it to dance with, or chew, or wave… but he’s always had one and generally always asks for one.  They must have magic powers, or valium at nursery though because he screamed and fucking screamed asking for a muzzy. I held strong for about 20 minutes but after the brioche roll incident my screaming threshold was significantly lower than normal so I buckled and got him a bastard muzzy.  Pick your battles n all that. Within 5 minutes of being handed that muzzy he was asleep. We’ll try again tonight.

Christiaan’s just got him up and after a cosy cuddle they’ve heading off to the park.  I’d love to go with them, it’s a gorgeous afternoon but it’s out of reach today. So I enjoyed my cuddle while Eli… well he was underwhelmed really. I’m going to struggle when he’s too old for a cuddle, I absolutely get more from it than he does. I could go to town with the whole maternal bond thing and there is definitely more than a whiff of that but to be honest, Eli’s warm and I’m always freezing these days so when I’ve got him beside me I get a right nice heat from him – especially when he pisses in his nappy – another reason, along with the shite on the carpet etc. that I’m in no rush to potty train him 😉

That’s my new jumper by the way, yep I’m wearing a jumper in this heat, and I tell you what else, that blanket is still over me n all. The new jumper has zips on the shoulders for reasons unknown though… maybe it’s for massive heeeeeeeds? Or for off the shoulder hussies? Who knows.

So how am I? Acht, I’m no better or worse than I have which is why I’ve stayed home while the lads go out and have fun. I’ve no energy and everything hurts so dragging my legs round the park in bright sunshine would be madness and if I did manage it (unlikely today) I know with absolute certainty I’d pay later on… and it’s bank holiday weekend. I don’t want to be shit on bank holiday weekend.

I miss my old bank holiday weekends mind. I’d nearly always get in the car and drive to see friends in Chesterfield, or Dudley, you know, all the cool places and we’d spend time laughing, eating, drinking and just catching up. Even without M.E. that wouldn’t have happened now, kids change your life loads. I’m far more uptight now and I know I’d be  questioning whether the hangover, extra calories, and god forbid, the upset in Eli’s routine would be worth it.  It would be nice to live with free abandon again; even if it did mean I was fat and hungover all the time.

So I’m on my own this afty and my only plans are to get dinner sorted for later so that if I do go downhill quickly everything is ready to go. That’s one thing that’s improved with having M.E. and Eli – my planning is shit hot. I may forget what the fuck it is I’m meant to be doing but somewhere, there is faultless logic contained within a plan… I just need to find the fucking thing.

Mexican chicken… I’m on my way.

Today’s headlines:

  • Highlights
    • My Instant Pot accessories have arrived hoooray! I now have a non stick inner pan (not pants) so that even if I burn shit, it’s not a big clear up…. for Christiaan *grin*
    • We’ve had a right nice morning just being togevva
    • Dinner is now sorted
  • Lowlights
    • Christiaan’s not feeling so great with sore throat and head cold poor bugger
    • Missing out on park life makes me feel a bit miserable
    • Still not able to do any gardening which is driving me mad because the weeds are playing on my mind… because I’m clearly middle aged
  • What’s on the menu Mellars?
    • Breakfast – apple and melon with yoghurt
    • Lunch – Roasted butternut squash & onion with cajun spices
    • Dinner – Mexican chicken & rice

The end…

 

 

If you’ve just stumbled across TryingToDoItAll and have no bastarding idea what’s going on you should probably go back and read a few blogs from the beginning. Don’t panic, I won’t ask you to read them all, but these few posts will help explain. Oh stop sighing, it’ll only take you a few minutes. Fucks sake.

  1. Well you’re here, so you may as well get comfy
  2. Can’t stop M.E. now…. ahmm having such a good time, ahmm tickling your balllssss!
  3. When are the grown ups coming?
  4. Major surgery…again?
  5. You’ve got to be kidding M.E.?

#mecfs #meawarenessuk #mewarrior #silentillness #swearymum

 

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