Joggists, tantrums and a weird bruise….

Saturday the 26th of May 2018

Private Mellars reporting for duty…. aaaaaaaateeeeeeeeenshunnnnnnnnnnnnn etc. etc.

Firstly, sorry for missing last night. No, no, relaaaaaax, we weren’t meant to be meeting at that seedy bar again, I mean for not writing. Those that follow the Facebook page clearly had an explanation (also sad face pics) but I know that leaves several hundred of you out there in wilderness who must have felt abandoned and alone without my moaning hanging round your neck like an anchor. I’m sorry OR I hope you enjoyed the break…. whichever applies. You should have run away while you could, I’d have known but I would have blamed myself for not writing and I’d have been too embarrassed to ask you back. This is the Daily Mail sad face you missed from yesterdays Facebook post – enjoy the bags under my eyes and my glazed zombie look… you’re welcome.


So, last night was the second blog I’ve missed in a fortnight and I think that’s pretty telling of how things are at the minute. Contrary to popular belief, resting and giving yourself time to get well is horseshit… well for those of us with M.E. anyway. Rest isn’t something I do to get BETTER, it’s what I do to keep going, so last night I had the choice of using what little energy I had to write, or using it to talk. It was a no brainer for me, Christiaan had been at work all day and I’d been in bed all day, I missed him so my energy belonged to him. It’s crackers that I couldn’t do both I know, but if you haven’t read about the 12 spoons analogy you should; it pretty much sums up pacing, which is the method (if you could call it that) that I use to decipher energy levels and capability every day. It’s not a hard read honest – it’s an analogy more than anything else. You can read it by clicking here if you’re interested. 

So what happened? Well I went to get my hair done obvs. That’s it. That’s what caused me to spend three quarters of yesterday sleeping. I knew as soon I got up yesterday that I wasn’t in a good way but I really thought that another hour in bed after Eli went to nursery would see me right. It didn’t and it was almost 1.30pm before I felt I could even get up from bed; even then I could easily have kept on sleeping, it was only the thought of having to go and get Eli from nursery that made me get up at all. As it was there was no way I could drive when 3.30 came around, it would have been dangerous so Christiaan had to, yet again, bail me out by finishing work early and collecting him while I camped out on the sofa just trying to bring myself round. I hate not being able to do things for myself but it really gets me when it’s something involving Eli too – it’s a bit of a slap in the chops not being able to do the basics for your kid.  I managed to get us through dinner time, so burger Friday did happen (of a fashion, it wasn’t as nice as normal) but I was chuffed when the wee man went up to bed and I could switch back off again. Awful aint it? Wishing your kid in bed so that you could stop making an effort to be his mum. I fucking hate admitting that if I’m honest but it’s life at the moment, and I’ve got to see it for what it is if I have any hope of this illness not consuming me mentally – it leads so many to depression, and I’m determined I won’t be one of them. Honest eyes and hearts are essential…. also, show me one Mum who hasn’t thought the same and I’ll show you a liar. M.E or not, there are very few serendipity mums who aren’t off their face on vallium or deluded.

Thankfully Eli went pretty much straight to sleep after his bedtime stories because approximately 5 minutes after Christiaan came down the stairs from his room over 1100 people ran past his bedroom window. No there wasn’t a tsunami, or even a half price sale, it was the Black Rock Race last night. It was loud because as well as the sound of 1100 pairs of feet, all of the villagers were out cheering them on drinking their fizz and getting hammered while exclaiming gratefully that they were glad they weren’t the ones running, no fucking shit Sherlock. Christiaan even got into the spirit and brought out a can of cider to the front garden to watch them whilst donning his trackies and hoody; you know, like the classy bloke he is; elasticated leisurewear for the win. So these poor fuckers are running past and all the while the local cheerleaders are shouting from the sidelines,  it’s what you need when you’re running so hard you’re almost sick innit? Drunk people shouting advice, valuable advice mind, like “Go on! You’re nearly there”. Now if I was running that sort of shit wouldn’t motivate me, it would make me want to punch them in their face –  in my brain I’d be saying “aye cheers for that Doreen, any chance of a piggy back? No didn’t think so you idle wench so shut it”.  I’d maybe not even manage to keep it in my brain to be honest, I’m shit at not saying what’s filtering through the thinking box. It’s a hard brutal race by the look of it (I’ve no fucking idea), it’s full of uphills and downhills until they get to the beach, then it’s a huge stretch of wet sand and water till they run round the black rock and then face the really gruelling upward run back past our house again to the finish line…. you’d not catch me doing it, not in a million fucking years, not even if I was well and there was a fire I had to run from, no, I’d not run. It doesn’t look fun. This pic is on the Kinghorn Photo’s page and was taken by one of the local’s Bruce Meldrum, it gives you an idea of the hardest bit of the race – cracker aint it?


I’m always grateful that Eli can sleep through apocalyptic noise but never more than last night it’s got to be said. After walking the dizzying distance from my door to my garden wall, standing for 15 minutes and walking back I was done – utterly utterly done. The physical limits of those running past and me were light years apart sadly; I’d have loved an hour of their energy and I can assure you I’d not use it fucking running. Bonnie and Bear must have known I was in a bad way, either one or both of them had been with me most of the day and last night, instead of biting fucking chunks out of each other, they actually cuddled up on the blanket together and looked cute.


You’d think having slept so much during the day I’d have struggled to nod off last night but I managed it no bother at all and slept straight through until Eli woke us up at just after 6. Instantly it felt much better than yesterday, I’m no where near as bad as I was, but unfortunately I’m still a few steps away from where I was before I got my hair done. I genuinely can’t believe that sitting down in a different environment caused this much of a pay back but I guess the sensory bit was pretty hard going and I was goosed before I went so….. no.. no, it’s no excuse. I’m fucked if I know what’s going on – it makes no sense does it? Neither does this bruise that’s appeared on the inside of my thumb. I’ve not fallen, I’ve not bashed it and it’s not sure  but it’s not the first time I’ve had mad bruises on my hands for no reason so I just need to shrug it off, ignore it and keep going. Here’s a shot of today, and also one from a few months ago…. madness.




So today has been really quiet, as I’ve said already I’m not really through the other side of yesterday yet but it’s Saturday innit? It’s the weekend! No work for Christiaan, no nursery for Eli and a sunny afternoon forecast; on paper it should been perfect. I mean, what more do you need? I tell you what I need, I need a toddler who isn’t a fucking arsehole for a start. That kid has pushed every one of mine and Christiaan’s buttons today. I have no idea what’s got into him but he’d better wake up and be a better boy tomorrow. He’s thrown tantrum after tantrum, refused to nap, pissed around with his food, has acted entirely irrational and generally been a bit of a tit in all conversations for the entire duration of the day. It’s just so much harder doing ANYTHING when he’s being a bell end.

We got out for an hour or so this morning though,  to get *shocker* a few more planters because the cats have found yet another way of getting on the garage roof and we needed to block it off. I went to a different garden centre though and was delighted when we parked up and I realised I could already see a cock and balls and a set of tiny tits. Look


I don’t understand anyone having an armless mullet haired flasher in their garden, far less one with a tiny tiny cock and a disproportionately big saggy ball sack. What’s the point of them? Especially round here? They normally just end up with a big fat pigeon on their head, and they’ve no idea what they’re stood on – it’s just another thing to shit on aint it? Pigeons be stupid. Surely there’s no one round here who thinks they’re posh enough to need this sort of shit in their garden.

Anyway, we got what we needed and headed home but not before Eli had fallen in a dirty puddle that had been created during plant watering and covered himself in mud, and then threw an epic tantrum because he wanted to “go that way”. Well we weren’t fucking going THAT WAY because there was fuck all there. What a cock.

I was smug thinking he was acting like the only arsehole in town because he was knackered, I was sure he’d sleep when we got home and we’d have a better afternoon when he got up. I was wrong. He gave none of the fucks about sleeping it transpired. In fact, he spent the whole hour and a half he was supposed to be sleeping ripping his nappy off and rolling around while pissing all over the bed (we think, it was wet) and got up in even more of a mood than when he went to bed. Fucks sake. So as a result of both me being shit and him being off his head, we’ve just pottered about in the garden this afternoon but fuck me was he hard work. I actually flicked the bird at his back as he went upstairs to bed. THAT’S how much of a twat he’s been.

Of course he’s asleep now, so I love him again. That boy is wild, cheeky, hard work and utterly utterly fucking gorgeous. I adore him…. even if he is a tit.

The end

  • Highlights
    • Erm…. well it was a curtains open day hoooorayy!
    • I got out, in the fresh air and everything
    • Bruce Forsyth has not been resurrected… I’m scraping the barrel I know but it’s been a tough day
    • The beast is now asleep!
  • Lowlights
    • My hairdo tried to kill me – true story
    • Eli will be listed on Etsy tomorrow
    • A bit of a shit day all round BUT better than yesterday
  • What’s on the menu Mellars?
    • Breakfast – two boiled eggs on a slice of wholemeal
    • Lunch – apple and raspberries with a yoghurt
    • Dinner – Technically a beef curry, but I opted to pack mine full of veg and give Christiaan all of the beef. It was tasty mind.

Are you new round here?

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


2 thoughts on “Joggists, tantrums and a weird bruise….

  1. You rock my world with your comedic honesty and brilliant…thankyou! Hope you feel my love beautiful mama earth ❤🌈🌞


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