Friday the 8th of June 2018
What a fucking week – I’m battle weary that’s for sure. I’m not sure if you were ever a battler at school? I wasn’t really; I grew out of my fighting days just as I went into high school (around age 11 for you English lot that don’t know the education system up here) and even at primary school I wasn’t a prolific fighter. I think I was in maybe half a dozen fights and only in the last few years I was there; I guess it always happens when kids become aware of power, and the opposite sex and who has what. I would say about half of the fights were my own fault to be honest; I was a gobby cow and used to say what was on my mind…. which at that age was often rude hurtful bullshit (this bit continued for many years) and the other fights tended to be me responding to someone else’s rude hurtful bullshit. My biological mum disappeared when I was 9 with her boyfriend and was never to be seen again (after sporadic contact for a few months) so I was ripe for the picking in terms of being different. I wasn’t bullied or anything, but I did have to fend off some really fucking awful behaviour from a few individuals and it lead me to get into more scraps than I think I would have done otherwise. There’s something a bit surreal about getting in a fight regardless of what age you are, it’s mad how your instinct kicks in and rules your next move. You either stand your ground and fight, clawing and hitting and kicking anything that comes into reach… or you run… especially if the person was bigger or stronger than you; or had friends that wanted to wade in too (fucking cowards). At some point tough you made a decision. You hold your breath and ask yourself “right then, hokey kokey time… left hook in or out?” you act and then you wait to see what comes next. I reckon that’s where I am at the minute (see there was a point to that rambling); I’ve already declared myself ready to fight, I whipped my coat off when this first started and I’ve thrown every fucking punch I have in me and up until a few months ago I was mostly winning. I had sat on M.E.’s chest and was type writing the fuck out of it…. but now? Well now, just like in all those souped up action films (which are shite by the way) M.E. has taken control back and is giving me a right good kicking; it’s soul destroying. There have been a few pauses in the beating right enough, (even villains need to catch their breath) but I’ve had almost 10 weeks of this even more intense form of battle now… and I’m knackered. Really knackered. I’ve gone to bed every night promising myself that tomorrow will be easier, better and more normal and I’m failing most days. Sure, I have the odd day here or there where I’m not housebound and it’s a victory I don’t want to dismiss, because I’m grateful, but it’s not a normal life. Normal people have freedom and weightlessness and energy and this fucking life I have? Well it has glimmers of those points but it’s becoming more and more difficult to harvest those wee normality nuggets; I’m just not well enough and I’m angry that I’m here. I know that sounds weak and I’m very aware that others have it way worse; I don’t want to own the monopoly on self pity or illness but fuck me this is getting harder every day instead of easier. If I can’t get rid of it completely, I at least want it to ease up for a bit; I need to be at the other side of this crash, I need to get back to work, I need to start living again.
I missed writing yesterday because it was a shitty day, I know I don’t need to tell you that, you’ll have guessed if you’ve been on the Facebook page, but yet again I looked in the mirror last night before I went to bed and wondered how someone who LOOKS so normal FEELS so fucked. It’s a question I ask myself a lot… surely I should look sick? Like properly ill but I don’t. What with my hint of a tan from my garden “rest” and my weight loss, I look the very picture of health and fucking vitality, OK so if you look closer you’ll notice I have dark circles but show me a mum who doesn’t? It’s a blessing and a curse I guess, I’d hate people to be looking all the time when I do make it out, but it means I need to explain what’s going on a lot and as you know, from the many many times I’ve written about it: most people just don’t get it when you I do (and I don’t blame them). So yesterday, my fit and healthy looking self spent all day on the couch. I had loads of time to write, I just couldn’t. I slept, and dozed and lay there like a really fit and healthy looking fucking zombie. I got up to pee and to eat (twice) and that was it until I had to fetch Eli at 3.30.
He’d had a good first night in his bigger boys bed by the way, (if you didn’t catch the video on Facebook check it out on Wednesday’s blog update post) I love his reaction to new things; it’s very rare that he doesn’t get excited or start laughing and he was no different when he saw his bed, it was another adventure, I love that about him. We lucked out as it went actually because he’d only had a tiny sleep at nursery so was absolutely knackered when he got home, he fell asleep while Christiaan was reading stories to him on his wee sofa so he was lifted into bed already asleep and stayed there allllllllll night. Last night was pretty much a repeat except that at 4.30 this morning I heard him cry and looked at the monitor to see him sat on the floor on his duvet looking a wee bit perplexed. I missed what actually happened but I’m guessing he hadn’t got up of his own accord and suspect he fell out of bed… which is a pain in the arse because 4.30am to Eli is a wholly acceptable time to be up for the day. He was not getting back in that fucking bed… I had no chance. I reckon I need some toys in his room now, or at least a wee light he can work himself so that he can sit and read books and entertain himself until it’s a more reasonable time to get up (don’t fucking laugh, it COULD happen) . So he’s going to be knackered at nursery today, which means he’ll likely nap and we’ll not have the same easy to transfer to bed tonight; in short – the fun starts here. Fuck.
I tell you what though, there HAS been some good news. I am proud to announce the arrival of Davie and Agnes’s offspring, now named Seamus and Betty. I think there was another egg, I’m sure there was three, but it’s either not hatched or it wasn’t successful… either way, here’s a cute pic of Agnes wanting to kill me…. and the tiles she pulled off my roof with her raving, oh and bird deterrent she now uses as her armour. Fucker.
That’ll likely be the last cute picture we get because from here on in they start their training to be utter cunts. Which basically means they’ll be falling off that flat roof and their parents will be going bat shit crazy if we dare to go near; our front door is just to the right of where she’s stood. We may die. The other nest is yet to erupt I think… although I can’t say for sure because they’re all the way up on the very top and I’ll not be able to see the chicks until they start getting ballsy and staring down into the shower room window while I’m trying to coax a poo out. If they put me off on weigh in day I will throw fistfuls of rage, fury and possibly shit all over their tin feathery faces.
So anyway, it’s Friday, which means two things; burgers and the beginning of the weekend. Now, every day is a weekend for me at the minute I know, but I am looking forward to being around Christiaan and Eli. I’ve not been fit for much again today bar 10 mins gentle weeding in the front garden, but I’m not as bad as yesterday so I’m daring to hope that tomorrow might be a wee bit better again; I guess it depends on whether M.E. is on it’s tea break or not. Fingers crossed it is because it’s the village gala tomorrow, which I think is a Scottish thing so I should maybe explain; think kids and often adults in fancy dress parading through the centre of a town/village (there’s normally a theme), bag pipes playing, a gala queen and king named from the local school, games, celebrations and lots of picnic food and you’re almost there. A lot of the bigger towns have proper days of it with entertainment and fairgrounds (we call them the shows here for reasons unknown) but Kinghorn’s only wee and there’s not too many kids so it’ll be a nice calm affair. I want to at least watch the parade with Eli, he’s been too wee the last few years to notice what’s going on but I think he’ll enjoy it this year; Christiaan might even be able to walk with him in it, they normally ask all the kids to join in. Fuck I might be able to! Who knows! Even if I can’t manage to walk any of it, I want to see it and take part where I can…. I mean… there’s bunting, and who doesn’t love bunting (I actually do know of at least one person who HATES bunting)?
Sunday will see us taking Eli to his swimming lesson and then maybe a visit from my folks seeing as they’re back from their hols – who knows, the world is our crab. One thing for sure though, I want to get out while I’ve got Christiaan on hand to help because next week may be a wee bit of a challenge by the looks of things. Monday will be fine, we’ll sort summit out but Tuesday is when the painter and decorator is here and it likely means I’ll be tied to the house with Eli for the most part; pray for some sunshine so that I can get the paddling pool out for bollockchops will you?
For now though, I’m off… have a great weekend.
- Davie and Agnes are now proud parents – chaos will ensue
- I managed to get 10 mins weeding done; not much but enough that I’ve achieved something today and it was the only thing on my agenda
- Although Eli fell out of bed this morning we’ve had a strong start with the bed…. lets hope it continues
- Eli actually TOLD me he’d shat this morning. This is new and very welcomed and means we’ll be starting toilet training v v soon… I can’t say I’m looking forward to it
- Davie and Agnes want to kill us, me especially when I stick my head out of the window to oggle their chicks
- All of the obvious shit above
- I got the paperwork through from work confirming that they have now passed my absence case to the insurance folk… if I’m not back to work in the next 18 weeks my salary will drop and I’ll be living off just over half of what I am now. The good news keeps on coming! I can’t blame them, it’s policy its just another reminder of how shit things are and how much I need them to turn round.
- What’s on the menu Mellars?
- Breakfast – left over quiche (come on, its really a frittata)
- Lunch – Raspberries, apple and a yoghurt
- Dinner – Burger night innit?
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.
- Well you’re here, so you may as well get comfy
- Can’t stop M.E. now…. ahmm having such a good time, ahmm tickling your balllssss!
- When are the grown ups coming?
- Major surgery…again?
- You’ve got to be kidding M.E.?
#mecfs #meawarenessuk #mewarrior #silentillness #swearymum