Wednesday the 22nd of August 2018
Well this isn’t how I planned this post. I’ve been thinking about it for AGES and I know it should be special; like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman (but not with a gerbil up his arse… and I’m not calling you a hooker either… fucks sake).
I wanted to light some candles, and dim the lights (to hide how fucking atrocious I look) and embrace you tightly as you walked through the door into the living room where I would shout “SURPRISE” and you’d shit yourself, and clap your hands to your mouth and exclaim “I don’t believe it” when you see the effort I’ve gone to.
It’s not meant to be though, you’ll understand why I’m going at it like a 14 year old lad with his first whiff of fanny in a minute. Here. Happy Anniversary.
No honestly, it’s OK that you didn’t get me anything, or even remember. I’m generally always shit at remembering anniversaries and special milestones too…. I’m not crying, don’t worry…no, it’s just dusty in here.
HOOORAYYYYYYY!!!!! I made it and more importantly, if you’ve been reading since I started writing back at the end of March YOU made it too. Although I’m worried that means you’ve not realised you’re logged on, or that you don’t know how to hit “back” so that the heady world of the internets is before you. There’s all sorts out there you know, I watched the same wee Mexican fella making churros 6 times in a row the other day on Instagram… 6 fucking times, and I tell you what, I could watch it again! It was the bit when he took them gently out of the fryer and then thumped them into melted chocolate…. it all gushed over the side of the ramekin. Oh fuck me, I had a mouth-gasm, I need to get some doughnuts or summit in me soon. I’ve been having sordid thoughts about a tiny Mexican and his friend sweet offering. I love a bit of food porn.
Sooooooooooo 100 blog posts eh? 100! I didn’t think I’d get to 10 when I first started, I certainly didn’t think YOU’D stick around. So thank you; thanks for supporting me during this shitty period, thanks for humouring and making me feel like I’m doing good things even if I’m not, and thanks for getting in touch and reminding me I’m not on my own… even if it feels like it sometimes. I’ve spoken before about how much the blog means to me, why I started it and my worries over it’s evolution so I won’t bang on but I want you to know I’m fucking delighted with the whole situation. Apart from the being ill bit, that bit’s wank.
I had wanted to make a big thing of the 100th post and do a run up at it, maybe a competition or maybe something hugely interactive but well…. it’s all gone a bit tits up this end and the most I’ve been able to do is cobble together some graphics and a few shitty posts. See, I got absolutely played by a Sunday roast. It bent me over and it showed me who was boss. True story.
Well I think that’s what it was – payback is a funny old fucker right enough, it could have been for something a week past Julember, or it could have been from straining too hard having a shit… I have no idea. All I know is that I went out to a tiny tiny farm on Saturday morning with Eli and Christiaan to “get out” after being confined to the house the week before. I spent no more than 10 minutes on my feet before sitting down for the majority of the day in different locations. This was all in preparation for Sunday, where I had decided that I had neglected this handsome hilly billy I live with; I was cooking a Sunday roast. All you English love it. I mean, us Scots don’t mind it but it’s an actual THING when you’re off of England innit and I feel a bit rotten making Christiaan eat Slimming World fare on what is meant to be a day of feast.
So I got myself up and cracking and decided on roast beef and a home made pudding ….brownies, everyone loves a brownie. I worked away back and forward baking and cooking and prepping and it didn’t feel like it was too much, until Sunday night when I could barely speak. Roll on Monday and and I was unable to get out of bed, Tuesday was a car crash too but I had high hopes for today (which were ultimately shat on). It was s bad on Monday that I had to get Eli into nursery for the day when he would normally be with me, and the Tuesday I normally look after him he spent with my folks, which was a big deal because they’ve never spent the day together just themselves. I’ve been capable of fuck all so I’ve kind of zombie’d my way through the last few days until I’ve arrived at a place where things are a wee bit less fuzzy. I guess the million dollar question is; “was it worth it?”.
Bits were yeah, I loved watching Eli at the farm and didn’t even feel too self conscious about using my walking stick because we were the only ones there bar a private party. The dinner I cooked was a bit meh though, it looked the part I guess…. Chistiaan’s beef was still mooing and the yorkshires could have been stilts but in truth; the beef was too rare for me, the yorkies were OK but stodgy, and the veg was all a bit shit – the cabbage was too fucking salty for a start. The roasties though (fake ones done in the Actifry obvs for fat club) were epic and the brownies appear to be fucking delicious given how many have been devoured by Christiaan or my folks. If it had been the perfect meal, and we’d all enjoyed it immensely then I would have said it was 100% worth it but Eli refused to eat his (shocker) and I just picked at mine; Christiaan seemed to have a lovely time right enough but he’s polite he’d have a go at melted welly stew if I served it for him. Even if it had pubes in…that weren’t mine… or his.
It’s a sign of how shitty this crash is becoming I guess. I’m relying on a walking stick more, not all the time right enough but enough that I’m feeling fucking annoyed with myself and now I’m unable to make a 2 course dinner without needing a 2 day fucking rest. I dunno whether to laugh or fucking cry.
Now it could well be that I’m just in a bastard of a mood about it all and actually, it WAS worth it but I’ve had a double whammy because just when the fog was starting to lift a bit Eli decided he wasn’t well last night. He slept till midnight then woke up in a right state. Would he go back to sleep? Would he fuck. I’d more chance of the Milk Tray man coming in through the window in a mankini. I eventually got him back into bed asleep at 4.10am after doing the hokey kokey between his bed, his settee and our bed for 4 fucking hours. He was up for the day, covered in shite, at 6.30am….. just in time to see Christiaan for a few minutes before he left for the office (he had an office morning). So, I’ve had maybe 3 hours kip last night and I’ve been dealing with a tiny cranky, over tired fucking maniac all morning.
He’s been banging doors, tipping toys out, talking back, refusing to eat, singing, crying, dancing, laughing, shouting until about an hour ago when I finally FINALLY got him into bed for a nap after eating a few mouthfuls of lunch. PRAISE HOSANNA. For those of you on the Facebook page, or Insta you’ll likely have seen the video from this morning; you see what I’ve been dealing with? Little fucker. In the meantime here’s a few snapshots of his “poorly sick”. He’s a fucking chancer he looks fine. Oh and look at the Brio track I made. My head may be fucked but I can still make a belter of a drag for Thomas and co. Legend.
Now you’d think I’d be using this time to rest and do fuck all wouldn’t you? Before he gets up? Can’t. No, I’m not calling you one I’m saying I cannot… I have *you ready for this?* the “rehabilitation team” from my works insurers calling me in a bit. How the fuck they plan to rehabilitate me is anyone’s guess but I’m for a laugh so I’m gonna speak to them and see what the crack is. Why the fuck not eh? No point in complaining of isolation and then turning down the chance to speak to someone who is PAID to listen to me whine… I’m in. Doreen, I hope you’re ready chicken, amma gonna talk the ears off you. What you won’t know about my condition will be not worth knowing, fuuuuuuuuck you’ll be able to go out and do roadshows and shit – GO DOREEN!
I’d planned to be all rested and shit for the appointment because behind the innocent approach to “help rehabilitate me” and get me back to work is quite a sinister intent that you come across frequently when you’re getting something for nothing – like a salary – they want to try and find a reason not to pay. I’m not buttoned up the back Doreen, I’m v aware I’m a massive pain in the arse not being at work but here’s a fucking plot twist; I DID NOT CHOOSE TO BE A BROKEN LITTLE TEA CUP. So, I guess my time with Doreen (her name won’t be Doreen but I may call her that all the way through for shits and giggles) will be listening very closely to the questions she’s asking, thinking about my answers and making sure that I don’t trip myself up and say something that could jeopardise my wages. It’s all semantics obviously because even though I’m getting worse rather than better in a lot of ways, I’m still determined that two weeks today I’ll be back at work and I won’t need her fucking approval to be ill.
TWO WEEKS…. I can’t wait but I am also incredibly apprehensive when, on paper, a yorkshire pudding has had me in bed for days. How the fuck can anyone be blindsided by batter? And what does this actually mean in terms of me being ABLE to deal with the basics of my role? Fucked if I know but I’ll not find out till I try will I? Might as well, I’ve got fuck all else to do.
There has been some positives too this week though you know. I shifted 2.5lb of lard when I went to weigh in at fat club on Monday night (I only ever stay for weigh in) which was v welcomed given my body’s stand off with any sort of fucking notion of burning blubber these last few weeks. I’m hoping now it’s woken up and remembered the script that we’ll be home dry in terms of the ongoing goal of becoming less of a fat bastard. I try really hard you know, I am on plan to the letter most weeks and it’s a real slap in the chops when something out of my control intervenes and stops play. It’s been a long old battle this – 14 months and counting and I’m so close to feeling comfy that I’d be gutted for it all to go to shit now so I started looking to Instagram for inspiration. Sure, I found the wee man and his churro’s but I also found loads of recipes and a fucking awesome looking food journal. I normally jot everything down on my phone as I eat or drink because my memory is fucking appalling and whereas I’d ALWAYS remember shoving 14 magnums and a multipack of crisps down my throat (even if I deny it) it’s not unheard of to forget I had a slice of bread with my soup and then double up on my fibre allowance in error later. So I got this: LOOK HOW FUCKING BEAUTIFUL IT IS.
Now I can absolutely guarantee that some of you are sat there calling me a sad fucking twat – I’m alright with that and it’s all very brave of you when you’re miles and miles away but remember; I’ve been “following a healthy living regime” for 14 months now… I’m fucking starving. I hope you have your running shoes on.
For those of you who AREN’T class A arseholes and are excited for me and a little bit jealous of my pretty book thing you can buy one of your very own from Fox and Moon . I went for the 12 month planner with some extra stickers…. because I’m 5. I’m having a lovely time with it… and yes, I know my writing is atrocious, I’m ill for fucks sake (also I’ve always written like a monkey on LSD).
So I’m less fat than I was the week before which is exactly what I was trying to achieve. Marvellous. I’m just gonna keep plodding on and hoping that doing the do will be enough; I still can’t get my head round not getting my shoes on and going for a brisk walk to burn some extra calories, or god forbid going to a fucking class…. I went to a few in my time you know. I always hated them, I hated the very essence of them. All that trying and determination made me feel itchy PLUS they always smell of a heady mix of white musk, farts, sweat and desperation. No matter what age you are, or what kind of class you go to it’s generally full of the same “types” of people – motivated ones. D, you’ll remember that spinning class you tried to make me take part in a few years back? The one where I refused to anything after 3 minutes because the seat was breaking my actual fanny? Remember that old woman there who was on class number 8 of the day and had fanny flaps like galvanised steel? Reeked of determination AND she was terrifying.
Anyway, I digress…. good news part two. I received a response from the doctors surgery about my complaint, that wasn’t really a complaint but more of a “what the fuck” response to some shitty treatment I received a while back when I’d forgotten to attend an appointment. To my utter disbelief the practice manager did actually investigate it; it’d not be fair to put the details of the next steps in here because it was centred around one individual in particular and some of you may know her buuuuut, what I will say is that I am chuffed it was taken seriously and not just with a pinch of salt. You get so used to fighting that it’s really breathtaking when you’re treated with respect – and that’s 3 times this month it’s happened with medical and authority officials. Maybe things are looking up? Or maybe I’m just fucking fearsome… I’m going with the latter.
I reckon I’ve shot my load now my lovelies. I’m done. I genuinely can’t believe I’ve managed to write something… you have no idea what a fucking challenge it’s been. The editing has taken ages n all so it’s now 7.02pm and finally FINALLY I’m finished. That’s almost 12 hours I’ve been plugging away and I am more than cream crackered, I’m broken so I’m off to bed and dream about those fucking churros.
Night my lovelies
(I know my bottom lip is swollen…. it does that sometimes, because… reasons.)
- Got a fancy new fucking book aint I? Surely I’ll lose a stone this week now that I have some stickers?
- I made it through the day – honestly, scraping the barrel but it’s definitely a highlight…. I could easily have run away
- Eli has just, this minute, been deposited in bed for the night. I AM FREE!!! No more “Mummy” “I don’t like dat one” “I want that one” “No Mummy I am not!” or my personal favourite for someone who’s an over indulged midget – “It’s not fair”… complete with arms folded. He’s not even fucking three. Twat.
- The numbers on the page are growing steadily which is smashing news, I dunno why, I don’t even know why I want more people reading but it is and I’m happy
- Day two of Slimming World SP done – tomorrow I shall roll in pasta. If you don’t know what SP is don’t worry about it, you’ll know when you need to and probably not before. That makes it sound all fight club… I might just leave that there.
- Low lights
- Well fuck me did I not lose a battle with a roast dinner. Slapped down by a fucking brownie. It’s totally floored me as you’ve read up there. It’s not been fun.
- Another grilling to work out if I’m a big fat fucking loser who is trying to scam everyone via the works insurance medical assessors. I get so tired of having to explain myself over and over… other chronic illnesses don’t get this much attention.
- Still no sign of this CBD working… I’m trying to keep positive but it’s difficult
- What’s on the menu Mellars?
- Breakfast – Two boiled eggs on a slice of wholemeal toast with primula again… the ham one. I know, it sounds minging, it SHOULD be minging but fuck me is it beautiful. Really tasty
- Lunch – Well it was supposed to be lentil carrot & bacon soup again but I never really got round to it so… nowt
- Dinner – Bean casserole with butternut squash… I’m going straight to windy city!
- I post pics regularly on my Instagram account if you want pics of some of this grub by the way – you’ll find a link to follow me here: CLICK HERE my pics all look like road kill but if I post a pic it’s because its tasty. OR wank and you should avoid making the mistake. Whatever. There may also be pictures of cats and kids. Not included in the meal… I’m not an animal.
TOTAL WEIGHT LOST TO DATE: 4 STONE 3LBS
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 #meblogging #mummyblogger #losingweightwithme #losingweightwithcfs
ME Blogger extraordinaire… a bit of a shit one, granted.