Will

There are days when the will to live is dealt a severe blow. When you are consistently shadowed by a big black dog, the blow may be something small to ordinary man, but as far as you’re concerned you may as well have had a house fall on you.

I had every intention of being to work for nine this morning. I even managed an early night by being in bed and light out before 11pm. I was up, showered and all animals fed and watered by 8pm, I was parking the car outside number 16 by ten past eight.

First blow. Number 16 is nearly three-quarters of kilometre away from the station. It’s pretty much as close as you can get. At that time I should have been down around number 6 or 8, but these big houses have wide street frontage and I was basically twice as far away as I should have been.
I had to run down the hill for the train.

Second blow. There were men in uniform checking tickets. Stopping everyone. I had to dig in my bag for my weekly, usually done on the train between stations and just before I get off the train. Today, I missed the train I was aiming for by a couple of seconds.

It was OK…the next train would get me into the office just after 9am.

If only the train hadn’t been significantly delayed due a mechanical failure.

I stepped on the train at 8.44.

I got into the office at 9.38. And the desk I was supposed to be sitting at was occupied. At least the computer was. So I had to hunt for a spare desk.

My will to live on a scale of 1 – 10 is currently sitting at about 4.

And yes, I'm aware on the grander scale of world problems it ranks roughly as a nothing. It's my world I concerned with right this minute. I'll deal with bigger issues later, when I'm feeling up to it.

I really hate days like this. It can only get better.

Crack in the Facade

Yesterday I had an odd day.

I woke feeling rested for the first time in a couple of weeks. I showered, dressed, sorted out the fur and feathers and even caught the train I was aiming for. The sun was shining.

Not long after the train had pulled away from the platform I felt the sting of a tear in my eye. I willed it away becasue I couldn't figure out why it felt like it was needed. There were no sad movies to be seen, no songs of regret pumping through my headphones. I was listening to Sander van Doorn to continue the positive mood I was in.

The tears pricked until they spilled over and started to run down my cheeks. I descreetly wiped them away.

I looked in my bag for a tissue. Sniffing season hasn't yet started so I don't have any. Damn.

I used my sleeve. Very twelve year old.

Then the nose started to go.

The train was packed and I was sat in the fixed seat that faces another. The lady sat in the seat opposite was watching me with interest but she made no move to offer a tissue or even an encouraging smile. Our knees where touching, maybe she felt that was comfort enough.

I could feel choking coming on as we sat at a station with the door open. I jumped for my seat, over the person between me and the aisle and out onto the platform. A large suck of air, pushed the lump in my throat back down.

I walked along the platform, expecting the doors to close, but they didn't. I found a seat a couple of carriages away from where I'd started and resumed my trip into work, feeling slightly confused but more composed.

The tears started again. That reprieve had been short.

What was going on to cause this...breakdown?

I thought about Cara. I thought about my job situation, my home life, my loneliness, sickness, the things I do because I'm on my own, things I don't do because I'm on my own. The last few years in general and how I've been breathing through the stress, the pain and worry for nearly four years, with little or no physical support.

Yes, I acknowledge there have been good times in there, but I can tell you that rough and tough times FAR outweighed good.

Whilst I have regular contact with many folks online (both here and aboard), no amount of wishful thoughts, air hugs and kisses and kindly, supportive words in a message will ever make up for an actual hug and a jolly good chat over a glass of wine.

I know there are some that ask how I fit everything I do into my life. I make it fit to prevent myself doing myself harm. Yes I mean that. Given too much time to think I eventually come back to 'why bother?'

Yesterday when I broke, the doctor wanted me to go to the hospital for evalution and assitance for my nervous or mental breakdown. I managed to convince her that I wouldn't self harm and I mean it. I think it, I know there are people out there that would, but not I. When thinking about how, I come around to who'd find me, who'd have to deal with my lack of will, who have to tell what family I have left that still speaks to me (family weirdness) and ultimately who'd have to do the washing up. So it always come back to thinking of others.

I acknowledge that I need help, professional help. I also need to make lifestyle changes and I need to have someone in my life that can call me when they want too and vice versa. Someone that I can exchange hugs with. Someone that isn't going to tell me to 'get over it' and most of all I need a human in my life that isn't surprised when they see me cry and even better if they can say, 'You're beautiful', when I do.

This won't solve the problem, but it with sure as hell will make putting together IKEA shelves easier.

A Few Hours of Firsts - Part One

This time last week I wasn’t feeling the love for the day. I felt sluggish and generally blah. I couldn't put my finger on what it was so I figured it was just my intense dislike of going into the city for work, or even, this particular role. Either way, I had a doctor’s appointment were I knew I'd be required to give several samples that could help pinpoint the problem if it was physical.

Now comes a warning: this entry will be an over share on medical things. Stop reading now if you are of a delicate disposition.

The doctor’s appointment turned up nought. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I was poked, prodded and pricked as usual.

I went to work. Still didn't feel fabulous but now I knew it was in my head. I could cope with that so I made the best of my day. It ended up being quite productive, but as the day wore on, the feeling of listlessness increased.

Once home for the night I got all my chores out of the way early. I had a light evening meal and settled down with Cara and the laptop for a little Facebook time.

About 10 I was ready for bed, early for me, as I stood up I felt a sharp pain shoot from my right, lower back down to my groin. I'd felt pain like this before. It had been a couple of months before when I had a kidney cyst bleed. I knew the next half an hour was going to be extremely unpleasant. I was right.

The pain in my right built up and settled. The dull, thick, thudding, pain that comes after a heavy blow. It got louder. I could hear it pounding in my ears. I sat down, stood up, paced a bit. Then started the cycle again.

The pain spread across my back to my spine and beyond. Nothing I did could get me into a comfortable position. At one point I was on all fours with my arse in the air. If I'd had company they may have taken it as an invitation.

At one o'clock I decided a warm bath would do the trick. It did. For about 30 seconds. Then I could feel it again. Spreading across my back, sneaking around to the front and spreading fingers down across my pubis.

The cats were freaked. Cara was freaked and hiding on the bed like she'd been scolded. She'd done nothing wrong, but Mum was pacing the house rubbing her back and side and muttering, 'fu*k, fu*k, farrk' under her breath.

At one forty five in the morning, I dialled '000'.

'Please state the nature of your emergency.'

I explained and continued pacing while I waited. Somewhere in there I unlocked the front door and put a jumper by the door. I didn't need it then, after all I was sweating the sweat of a fevered fellow.

The Ambulance arrived about 10 minutes after I'd called. They asked me to sit down, I declined and explained why, they took me out the the flashing lights outside. As I closed the door I was left with the vision of terrified puppy eyes.

FIRST #1: Ambulance ride as a patient.

The journey was less than smooth, not because of the driving, that was great. The painkillers they tried to give me smelled so sickly sweet it made me vomit, which made me pee a little, which caused a few tears, which in turn commenced the apologies. It's a chain reaction. I know they see this and much worse every day, but I still felt I needed to acknowledge my humble thanks to them saving me.

I threw up all the way to the hospital. By the time I got there I was wearing wet pyjama bottoms and I had well and truly started tumbling down the shame spiral. For no other reason than I was a 39 year old who wet her pants while vomiting.

My blood pressure on entry to the hospital was 149/111. Trust me, if you know nothing about blood pressure, that isn’t good.

The nurse told me off for leaving it so long before calling an ambulance because I was close to ‘stroking out’.

I was put in a ‘sub-acute’ room and given two Panadol.

A Few Hours of Firsts - Part Two

I brought the Panadol back up about ten minutes after I’d taken them, just enough time for them to dissolve and cause acid burning on the return journey. The doctor hadn’t seen me yet so they couldn’t give me anything stronger. I was still pacing.

‘On a scale of one to ten, what your pain level?’

‘Ohh..about a twelve.’

After an hour, the doctor came in. He asked me how the pain in my tummy was. I corrected him, politely. Considering the discomfort I was in I was remarkably calm and polite, but then it doesn’t pay to p*ss off the doctor on duty.

He asked, ‘do you have a history of kidney stones?’

‘Nooo....’

‘Your symptoms are classic kidney stone. We need to get some pain medication into you.’

I didn’t say it, but my head screamed ‘No shi*t, Sherlock!’

‘I’ll come back and get a canular into you’ He did come back and proceeded to stuff it up. He hurt me for no reason.

A nurse came back and tried again. My blood pressure was so high that when she stuck the needle in it was like a scene from Scream. There was blood on my pjs, the floor the chair and her. The pain from my kidneys was refocused to the back of my left hand. But it went in and shortly afterwards 10mg of morphine was wending it’s way up my arm. I could feel it. And I’m pretty sure it showed on my face. If I ever had to portray a heroin addict in a Hollywood blockbuster, now I could. My first drugs, ever. Not counting booze.

FIRST #2: Class A drugs

Twenty minutes later, ‘On a scale of one to ten, what your pain level?’

‘About a 5.’

‘To ensure I’m giving the drugs to the right person, what’s your name?’

‘Clarissa Dalloway.’ The look on the nurses face was priceless, she clearly didn’t get, a)the literary reference or, b)the party reference. I quickly gave her my real full name and she relaxed.

‘For someone in so much pain, you’ve sure kept your sense of humour.’

‘Laugh or cry, laugh or cry. It’s pretty simple really.’

10mg more. Once again I could feel the cool travelling up my arm, this time the pain went down to zero.

Over the course of the next six hours I had my blood pressure checked, I had a thermometer stuck in my ear and I continued vomiting. I also had another 15mg of the good stuff. By this time there was only the lining of my stomach to come up and I was still sitting in my pee soaked pants. I was ‘nil by mouth’ so not even water was coming up, just bile past the Panadol burn of earlier. No one had any chewing gum.

I fell in a drug induced sleep between pokes and prods.

I relented and changed into a hospital gown.

I was taken to a CT scan in the morning. I was still vomity and still being given morphine for the pain. I was told, ‘some people just can’t handle the drugs.’ I was pleased to know that I’d be a rubbish addict, but less than please to know that I would continue to feel nausea and the resulting retching until the pain was gone.

FIRST #3: CT Scan

After the scan I was return to my room, after throwing up and wetting myself again. Having a canular in the back of my hand restricted my pacing ability when the pain returned, as it did as soon as I moved or threw up.

Dr. Chong, a resident in Urology came to see me with the CT results.

‘You have three kidney stones. Two in the right, and one in the left. The one in the ureter (the pipe between the kidney and bladder) is the one causes all the problems. It’s stuck. We need to loosen up your muscles so they relax.’

I asked to see the scans. So i wheeled my fluids bags out to the desk where the computer was and had a look. Dr. Chong thought it was hilarious that I wanted to see.

I wanted to see the little bugger that was causing all the problems. A tiny white dot on a screen or black and grey.

FIRST #4: kidney stones

I’m the first to admit that I generally like stones. The Rolling Stones, the shiny white one you use in your garden to stop weeds, the flat type that skim across the water and bounce when thrown, just right, even the little ones that get caught in your shoe and give you a clippity cloppy sound when you walk. I’m not a fan of Kidney Stones.

A Few Hours of Firsts - Part Three

FIRST #5: I was admitted to hospital.

Tuesday was pretty much a write off. I dozed in a morphine induced stupor. I was woken only for my blood pressure and temperature checks.

I do remember throwing up when one of the nurses came to introduce herself to me. I apologised for that later.

Dinner was delivered, despite a big, red, NBM sign hanging from my bed. The smell taunted me, and brought on waves of nausea, but didn’t bring anything up. I was very glad when it was removed.

At 8.15 the lights were turned out. I vividly recall making a comment about being on a ward for 12 year olds and the Sri Lankan lady opposite giving a belly laugh. The weird thing was, they then left on the bathroom light that lit up the whole ward. They also continued to visit us with pills, arm cuffs for BP and ear thermometers.

About 9.30 a nurse came to check my vitals again and put the cuff on the same arm as my hand canular. Bearing in mind that I was still on IV fluids, she pumped the cuff up to get a reading...as it filled with air I could feel the pressure in the back of my hand building. Just as it released it pressure on my arm I was about to swear at the nurse to ‘get the fu*king thing off me’, she was spared by a fraction of a second.

The following morning she did the same thing at 0515.

I requested nicely that she use the other arm. She apologised and moved to the right.
By now all my dignity had deserted me, so it wasn’t an issue that I had to let the nurses know when I needed to pee. They had the strain it to see if there was anything in it. After my nine am constitutional the nurse came back and rattled a pot at me.

‘It’s out!’

‘Squeeeeeeeee’. I was very excited. It meant I didn’t have to have a stent put in. That sounded really nasty.

This meant I could go home. Yeah!

A 3mm ball of calcium deposit caused so many problems in a short amount of time and so much elation in even less.

FIRST #6: Passed kidney stones

No, Really, it's not back pain

I went to the doctor today.  This isn’t an unusual occurrence due to my crappy list of heredity conditions, but what is unusual is that I went to one other than my usual doctor.
 
Dr. R is quite used to me walking in and hearing the reply to her question of ‘How can I help you today?’ I’m here for more drugs.  It means I simple need a new prescription.  She knows my background of polycystic kidney, hip reconstructions and blood pressure issues.  She’s also helped me scare the black dog away a few times.  She also comments on how remarkably self aware I am with what’s going on with my health and body.  After years of problems, it helps to be able to explain quickly and succinctly.
 
On Wednesday night I was woken with a pain in my side.  I’d been torturing myself allday about Millie, so I was a tad stressed.  This pain was deep in my left side and I knew straight away the pain was in my kidney.  I couldn’t sit, lay down or stand without extreme discomfort, so I went with the least painful and paced the bedroom and lounge.  After half an hour the pain went away, but my blood pressure was sitting in 149/99.  Not ideal.
 
Yesterday while I was giving a presentation at work, I felt the deep pain again across my entire lower back.  I also noticed something unusual in the bathroom.
 
I called the Doctor.  Dr. R is on leave, back Monday.  I made an appointment with a Dr. A. 
 
Saw Dr. A this morning.  I told him about my symptoms and history.  He tested me for back pain saying it unusual that pain should extend across both kidneys.  He begrudgingly asked for a wee sample.  Was surprised when I came back in less than two minutes.   I tried to explain I always drank a bottle of water before a doctors appointment out of habit.   He didn’t take my BP, he didn’t weight me.  He was surprised that I seemed to have a kidney infection without any symptoms of a bladder infection.  He explained that commonly (he objected when I used the word normally) ‘these things start as bladder infection and travel up to the kidneys’.  He asked me to cast my mind back to if I had had ‘any pain when urinating?’  He dismissed my concern that a cyst may have burst, which is a genuine concern based of family history, as ‘highly unlikely’ as he smirked.
 
At this point I was getting a little miffed.  I asked, ‘We’ve established that I have a kidney infection.  What can we do to clear it up?’
 
‘Well with kidneys such as yours, you must do everything to keep them clean and flushed at all times.  Do you drink plenty of water during the day?’
 
ARGH!  Now I understand why Muv used to say ‘Don’t try and teach me to suck eggs’.
 
He eventually gave me a prescription for antibiotics, but, boy did I have to work for it.  I had to sit through a 10 minute lecture on how to look after my ailing kidneys.  Like I needed reminding!?  I was told seven years ago by my Nephrologist that without the proper care I could be on dialysis by the age of 45 if I didn’t do as he said.  I do as he said.  45 is now only six years away.
 
I go back next week for a  follow up, thank goodness Dr. R will be back from her holidays.
 

Gold Plated Chooks?

So, due to demand for home grown eggs from work colleagues and friends I decided to add a couple more chickens to the flock on Saturday, making the total six channels on CatTV.

The flock is called CatTV as a collective because, Oren, the cat can spend hours watching them. Whether they are locked up in the coup, or roaming free in the garden, she’ll watch, faux stalk and run away when chased. The last one happens more often that you’d think.

The first four where first purchased on the day Jeff Conaway finally lost his battle with drugs and alcohol, I thought it would be fitting to call them Rizzo, Frenchie, Jan and Sandy. I called the new additions Marty and Channing (having run out of female character names and I didn’t think Waitress was very nice as a name).

Fittingly enough, the Pink Ladies took exception to the new additions and decided to show them who was boss. The pecking order is very fitting as Marty and Channing really have had a stressful few days.

I first noticed the wound on Marty’s foot on Tuesday. It was red and open, not dissimilar to a cut you may get from a nasty scratch. I took her inside and bathed it. I didn’t get a chance to look at the wound on Wednesday, and yesterday I made a point of looking in the morning. Her toe was black.

I went to work, and on the way I made an appointment with the vet. Luckily it was pay day.

When I got home to put up Marty, I notice a small scab on Channing’s cheek, so I put her in the box. Better safe than sorry.

Both birds had a shot of penicillin, Marty had part of her toenail cut away to see if the limb was dead already, but a spot of blood showed that it was possible it may just be saved. Channing had a blood clot on her face. I was informed that production anaimals are pretty hardy and cope with this sort of thing quite well. While it may not be visually pleasing as a pet, we can't just put them down for any old thing. I never intended to have them put down unless they were suffering. I don't allow suffering in my house. I paid the bill...cough, clear throut, we shall speak of this no more...

Fallout, no eggs can be used until the foot is healed. If Marty has septicaemia, then it can be passed into the eggs, and that wouldn’t be a good thing to eat.

I have to keep a close eye on both birds until their check up next Thursday. Puffiness, not eating, sitting and no walking are all bad things

This morning I let the Pink Ladies out in the rain for the day, giving the sickly duo a day in, on their own to potter about the coup, have a bite to eat and generally have a day off. I’ll do the same for the next week. As I was leaving both were eating and moving around.

Wish them improved health and that other leave them alone.

Un-frinkin'believable

It was my day off between gigs today. I went to the doctor for a check-up and blood test. While I was waiting to see the delightful Dr. Rosemary, I got a text message from the mole;

‘Hi, sorry to bother you but I can’t find the updated training report and I need to provide it as part of the handover. Can you tell where you saved it? Thnx KB.’

So I did tell her and that I was at the doctors.

I went into the doctor’s office and had my blood pressure taken. 131/90. She wasn’t happy with that. My phone blipped again. I looked, like a fool.

‘Hope u r ok.When you r done, can you send me your network password and I will retrieve it. KB.’

MY NETWORK PASSWORD!! Are you frinkin’ kidding me!? No way in a million years!

My doctor took me BP again. It had gone up to 142/110, all from a simple text.

This is what I put up with for four months, the woman contacted me, an ex employee, who for once in her career had not left an employer with the words ‘If you need anything, call me.’ I couldn’t give a rats bottom where the document was, despite spending 2 hours updating it and including all her nit picky edits.

My Doctor expressed concern over my weight gain, then immediately said, ‘but if you’ve had that for four months, it will drop off now you’ll stop comfort eating’. What a wise woman!?

Anyway, after my appointment I had a blood test, so now have a bruise like I’ve been shooting up.

I got another text, ‘Unfortunately the last version on the shared drive was modified on 5 Aug. That’s why I need to retrieve it s I don’t think it saved.’

I ignored it, but rang my friend Bling Bling. ‘could you please sort this out?’

I’m pretty sure she did, because I didn’t receive any more texts or emails. But seriously, who the hell does KB think she is.

After that, Cara and I had a nice day wandering around town. I brought myself a book that reminded me of my childhood, and a t-shirt for the little lady. We popped in to see the Chocolate lady, but after being told by the doc I had gained 6kgs I declined the kind offer of some free Rocky Road.

Tomorrow I start my new job.

Mangy Mongrel

For nearly 15years I have suffered bouts of depression. It’s what my doctor refers to as ‘reactionary’, meaning that something triggers it rather than it occurring for no apparent reason.

For the last few years I have constantly struggled to get the black dog to back off and leave me alone. Six months ago I resorted to trying to kill it with a daily dose of 50mg of Zoloft, but I figured something out last night. The mongrel really doesn’t like being slowly poisoned to death, it knows you’re trying to do it, and it bites back. Hard.

Being brought up with a stiff upper lip and not showing emotion in public I have developed a stoicism that often leave completely in the dark as to my mental state until I crash. I’ve crashed. I want to retreat from the world, tell everyone to get lost and stay in bed surrounded by the family that gives me comfort.

Unfortunately, one of the reasons this black dog is following me my every waking moment is money worry. Nearly 18 month of unemployment in the last three years has made a massive dent in my finances that I am desperately trying to claw my way out of. This month, I’m going from fortnightly to monthly pay, after all my bills got paid the day the cash hit my account, I now have just $100 to last me until the end of July. Just another reason to retreat.

I was doing OK until yesterday, my brave face has held up mostly, but an incident at work yesterday, sent me sliding down the spiral into the jaws of the pi*sed off dog.

I got told off for doing my job by a woman who isn’t even supposed to be working on the project anymore.

I know it sounds insignificant, but without going into the whole long, back story, you’ll just have to trust me that it’s just another thing from a long line of controlling behaviour by a woman who thinks she owns me.



While I acknowledge I have quite a dominant personality. I really don’t have a competitive bone in my body. I just want to do a good job and go home at the end of the day. However, I have come across the odd colleague that sees me as a challenge. They win of course, because I don’t have the fight in me, I can’t be arsed. It’s not that I can’t fight, I have in the past I just find it’s not that important to prove I have the biggest testicles and that I can be a wife, mother and high-powered executive. I don’t care, no, really. I simply do not care. I really just want to do MY job, do it well, get paid for doing said job and go home to my life. So when I come across someone who wants to control me, by clock watching, checking up on me and generally limiting my ability to do my job effectively it has a profoundly negative effect on me. It makes me not want to get up and go to the job. It makes me not want to do anything while I’m at the job and it really makes me wanna bitch-slap the biatch that’s making me wanna bitch-slap them. Of course I do get up, I do do stuff once there and I don’t resort to physical violence.

While dominant, I’m fairly mellow, good natured and generous (time wise and financially when able) to those that treat me well, even those that I don’t know are gonna turn on me and stab me firmly in the back when I turn to pay for lunch. Once you F#ck with me at work (I’ll always try to find out what’s going on with friends), I shut down. I become uncommunicative (for a Communications specialist this can be an issue), I become withdrawn and I will not engage with your behaviour. I will not confront you, it’s what you want, fight. I will moan to others (sorry others), but mostly I will internalise. And we’re back to the dog.

Time has come for me to withdraw from the world again. Heal. Deal with the shemozzle that is my life for the next 36 sleeps (my dealing with the dog breeder ends in 12th August), I need to focus on securing a new contract, and sorting out my house. Once the black dog moves in all facade of houseproudness flies out the window. I need to sort out my tax paperwork.

It’s likely you’ll still see me around, but it won’t be out and about town, it won’t be Farmville and it won’t be at any social events organised through work because I can tell you I can hear that fake laugh at 1000 paces, see the annoying hand gestures through concrete walls and most of all I can feel my air being polluted by it’s breath.

I will continue to smile. Never fear, I have a fur family that would miss me too much.

I’m going into a tunnel…

And yet the person on the other end keeps talking.

I’m getting into the lift…

And yet the person on the other end of the phone keeps talking. They know and you know the likelihood of being cut off is somewhere in the high 90%, and yet they keep talking.

Why?

I’ve been asking this question a lot lately, of a lot of things. I’ve been trying to figure out why people do the things they do. It’s driven me into the arms of a shrink.

All the things that have happened over the last three years, marriage separation and subsequent divorce, the expiration of Mum and stepdad , moving house and jobs, robberies, money worries and relationships that leaves me questioning my sanity. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need assistance wading through the thigh deep mud that is slowly sucking me down.

I’ve leant one thing already.

You have to stop asking, why. You’ll never know why someone did something. Even if you ask them. They may not know themselves. Few people are self aware enough to say, ‘I did that because…’

So, friends. When I ask, why do you think my Grandmother stopped talking to me after my Mom died?’ Don’t try and give me an answer, just tell me I’ll never know.

When I ask, why did my friend ditch me after I left my husband and then start hanging out with him? Tell me I have to not read too much in to it and they are both out of my life. Move on.

When I ask any questions about things I have no control over, please tell me I’m not a mind reader and I’ll never know, move on.

When I ask, why does someone keep talking even though I’ve told them I’m going into the lift and the doors are closing? Tell me, it’s because they’re an idiot

St David's Day

Today would have been my 14th wedding anniversary, but seeing as I’m divorced now, it’s just St David’s Day. It’ll still evoke special memories in me, they’ll just be a little more wistful.

Instead of flowers, dinner and an amazing night of snugly ohing and ahing, I went to see the doctors.

I’ve been putting it off, knowing that I was getting worse and knowing that I’d inevitably walk out with a prescription for mind altering drugs and a suggestion to see a counsellor. I was right. But I know I’ve reached a point where I need the help.

These are a few things I know to watch;
Anger. It’s much worse than it’s been in a very long while. Frankly, I want to tell everyone to just f*ck off then go and hide in a hole.
Sleep. I sleep like a cat, but wake up tired after my dreams have been invaded by nastiness. No frolicking in lush green meadows with the man of my dreams at the moment.
Motivation. I’m sorry you want me to do what? I can’t be arsed to get showered or dressed at the weekend let alone leave the house if I don’t HAVE to.
Motorbike. I’m avoiding it. I very nearly sold it at a loss the other day.
Food. I starving all the time, but don’t want to eat. Once I start eating I can’t stop.
Concentration. How many times did I wash my face in the shower this morning because I’d forgotten I just done it?
Writing. I haven't done any for ages unless I'm complaining or griping about something. I'm not really a miserable git, but I'm sure some think I am. Consider this exhibit A.

Of course there are still those that ask me for help, even though I’ve attempted to retreat into the pit of despair that is my life at present. I’ve stopped going out even though I have a couple of fellas trying to court (I use that word because date seems odd). I’m wrong at the moment. I’m up for a bit, then down as low as can be.

Dr Rosemary says I need to be less stoic, ‘it’s a very British mentality’.

I freaking out about how the bills are going to be paid. I need to get a housemate, but despite a lovely spare room and over 100 views on the advert I’ve had no enquiries. My mental health is slipping into disrepair along with my kidneys.

I’ve been here before and I survived. Actually I’ve been here a couple of times in the last few years. I bounce back, but as a friend said the other day, ‘I’m just not sure how many bounces I have left in me’.

I can’t help thinking; while Africa was a great adventure, I would have been better staying at home.

I can’t help thinking; if I’d never have left my husband, I’d be financially OK?

I can’t help thinking; what’s going to happen to me, am I going to die alone, broke and eaten by cats?

I can’t help thinking; would anyone really miss me?

Weekend

I had a very relaxing but productive weekend. Washing was done, the groceries were purchased, the ironing was done. I had dinner guests on both Saturday and Sunday. I had several telephone conversations with mates that lastest up to and beyond twenty minutes. I even did some cleaning.

It was the busiest weekend I've had in quite sometime.

Last night I went to bed straight after the 8.30 movie (The Heartbreak Kid), read about four pages of my book then passed out. I slept so heavily I managed to completely ignor my alarm until ten past seven. I was late for work and I don't care because I felt healthy for the first time in weeks, nope scratch that, months!

FUBAR

I decided to stop writing for a while. I don’t know how long it will be, a few days, a week, a month. I have no idea.

I hit the top of the slope described in an earlier entry about lunch time yesterday and now I’m sliding down on my arse at a rate of knots. I don’t feel up to being witty or happy joy joy. This is when I need my friends and they don't seem to be there. So I’m off to deal with this myself, in my own corner.

I may or may not be a while.

Down in The Dumps

Take the title as a hint of what this entry in about please. I’m feeling down in the dumps.

I realized today that over the last few months I had a bit of a time of it all. I left my husband (yes, I know self inflicted), my good girlfriend seems to have found better or more interesting friends and seems to have abandoned me despite me asking if everything is ok, my other good girlfriend is always at work and even when she isn’t lift f*ing miles away. My bestest bud went back to the States because the umbilical cord had stretched too far and was starting to hurt. I was robbed, I seem to have an infestation of mozzies, I don’t have air-con and the house is getting hotter. And I’m currently broke because of excess goodbye do’s and a couple of days sick.

Ohh yeah… and we can’t seem to sell the god-damn house on the Central Coast. Hubby keeps doing things to the house and car and not telling me because he thinks I can’t afford it, so I use the car and find new tyres, or I go to the house and find out there’s a new pool pump and cover. I may not be able to afford to assist, but I wish he’d tell me before so at least I can feel guilty before I’m trying to have a little fun. And I have to have the conversation with the woman who sold us a duff alpaca that can’t have babies.

I was also told the other day that no one will give me income protection becasue of my kidneys. So I have to save about 6 months of salary just in-case I get sick.

This morning I had trouble getting out of bed despite a decent amount, but restless sleep. I’ve been having trouble with sleep recently and I couldn’t put my finger on why. I think I may have figured it out. I’ve reached my limit of shit. I can’t take much more before I hit the top of the extremely slippery slope into depression.

I know I’m not there yet, but I can feel it coming. Having been there, done that before, I can feel the signs. Not wanting to get up, not being bothered to get dressed at the weekend, having an ironing pile that has strata levels, not eating ( I can’t be arsed to cook for just me) and just general malaise.

Not even the prospect of Cycle 9 of America's Next Top Model is cheering me up.

When I stop having my hair cut and painting my toe nails, please take me to the doctor.

The Downside of Short Hair

It’s been two weeks since I had all my hair buzz cut for charity. Generally I’m lovin’ it. I don’t have to brush it. I don’t have to wash it everyday. It takes five seconds to dry it when it does get wet and I can wear any of my fine selection of wigs whenever I feel like it.

However, I have become the victim of BES. With long hair to protect my ears in the night I never experienced the terror of waking with the top of my ear bent over and pins and needles. Or worse complete numbness.

Bent Ear Syndrome hurts and I’m sure men around the world have been suffering in silence since the dawn of time, but it’s new to me and it hurts.

So I will be growing my hair back just so I don’t have to suffer BES for all time.

(148 words)

Starvin’ Marvin

I not sure why, but today I am absolutely starving. I had my usual large fruit salad for breakfast and have been keeping myself reasonably busy this morning, but by 11.45 I had to eat my lunch.

Normally I could blame boredom, but not today, I have been emailing Edna with dating advice (like I’m an expert or someink ;-), writing the ‘in the news’ for the next alpaca magazine, editing poems from my group last night and I actually did a little work. So I don’t think boredom is the answer.

Any ideas…and NO, I don’t have worms (before anyone suggests it)!

(103 words)

Happy Birthday!

It has now been 3 days since my little trip to the hospital and I have to say I’m still feeling as rough as guts, but getting better. So this week, I have been mostly drinking Powerade.

I have been using this time to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I’ve also been thinking...a lot! Buffy is my main stay of ‘feeling ick’ watching ‘cause she is quite frankly a chick that kicks butt even when she has a fever (Killed by Death, Season 2 Episode 18) And if I was to see any of the guys I suspect of doing this to me and Edna I would pin him up against a wall and beat the living crap outta him to the best of my ability, (of course, I would find out if they were the guilty party first;-).

My very own Buffy rabbit in the late 90's

The thinking part of my recovery has been caused by the dreams I’ve been having, I see myself slouched by a wall, naked and unable to move, people walk passed and laugh and point. Some ask ‘Is she dead?’ In reality, I don’t think it was much different, except for the naked part.

So is it a possibility that instead of opening presents with my husband for his birthday today, he could have been arranging my funforall?

(219 words)

The Day After, The Day After the Night Before

Christmas and New Year has come and gone for another twelve months and boy am I glad. I really am a bah-humbug kinda person with the holiday season. I believe it’s for kids and big kids, and I do not fall into either category (at least I don’t think so most of the time).

On Friday last week Edna and I went up to the house for the weekend. We spent time over analysing everything under the sun, including relationships, boy/men, programming and even how quickly wine evaporates once the cork has been removed. After singing ourselves to sleep to Moulin Rouge we woke on Saturday feeling a tad rough but in control. In the evening we went to Miss Eudoxia’s house for dinner. We ate enough food to feed the forty thousand between the six of up present and all of it was divine. Satay sticks, salt and pepper calamari, vol-a-vonts, roast beef with prawn and luscious creamy garlic sauce followed up with pancakes (crepes), strawberries and homemade Mango Ice cream. Thanks Miss E and Fireman Gaz for a lovely evening and introducing us to Master and Miss K.

Sunday, New Year Eve. We drove down to the city, showered, creamed our bodies with perfumed moisturises and prepared ourselves for a night of nights. At 7.15pm we walked into the Lowenbrau Bier Keller, where we were seated for dinner. At approx. 7.30pm our first bier arrived. 500ml (just over a pint) of Franziskaner Dunkel. We ate entrees, massive main and dessert all the while rating famous men on a scale of Pretty boy to Lorry driver. We came to the following conclusions;

1. There are way more Pretty Boys that are famous
2. Some famous people don’t rate being rated on the scale
3. The prettiest of pretty boys are David Beckham, George Clooney and Orlando ‘bloody’ Bloom
4. The bestest of the lorry drivers are Colin Farrell, Robbie and Bruce Willis

After dinner was concluded about 10pm (now two biers and two schnapps) we adjoined to the bar via the Nail Hammering competition. I was promptly disqualified, cause I hit the nail to hard and it bent. Ohh... well:-). We ordered another bier and another schnapps, we chatted with a few guys, including the English Tourist and avoided a couple, at about half eleven when we went outside and ohh and arhhed over the fireworks for twenty minutes or so.

Back inside at 12.45am. We ordered another bier, but I didn’t drink it ‘cause it was the wrong one and yucky, but I did drink the schnapps. Edna was sat next to the English Tourist from earlier, and suddenly I had to go to the loo...I was violently ill, but had the sense to clean the seat before leaving the ladies. I need water and I need it now! The security guard told me I had to leave...I need water! I was escorted up the stairs to the courtyard... I couldn’t see Edna and I could no longer see the stairs. I ping ponged across the courtyard and to the outside world...I need water...somehow I managed to cross the road before leaning on a pillar. I slid down the pillar no longer able to stand...I need water...before falling to my side and depositing the remaining contents of my stomach on the pavement...I need water...I got out my phone and somehow despite not being able to see the screen sent a text to Edna saying ‘outside opposite’. I put my phone back in my bag and tried to stand, I couldn’t, I was a rag doll, I couldn’t hold my head up, my legs would not move, I was leaning heavily on my right arm...I need wat...

‘Here drink this, you need water.’ A male voice said to me, placing a plastic cup of ice cold water in my hand. I drank it, I needed it!
‘Can you stand?’ he asked, I think I said ‘I need to walk home.’
‘I’ll make sure you get there.’ he said. I later found out his name was John and he was 18 and it was 5.30am. He did walk me home, bless his heart and brought me 3 litres of water, which I drank. He left me at my front door and I have no idea what we talked about the walk home except that he was at university, from a wealthy family (that was expecting him home) and that he had yet ‘to experience the love of a woman.’

After 5 hours of sleep I awoke to the phone ringing, it was Edna. She was home, but could not remember getting there. I had sent the text message at 1.45am.

I got out of bed and drank some water...it promptly reappeared. I drank some more and it reappeared again...this continued until about 2.30pm when I had a shower and on the advice of Miss E went to the hospital. I was severely dehydrated and after telling the nurse my story, they tested me for drugs. It was confirmed that someone had slipped me “rohypnal”. I was given an anti-vomit jab and sent home with instructions to drink plenty of water. So I did and watched Grease and Grease 2 until going to bed.

Today, I have slept and been to the police station. I’ve just ordered pizza. I will over analyse this state of affairs when I stop feeling so shite.

(894 words)

Second Adolescence

It official, It seems I'm going through puberty AGAIN!

I went to see my ‘gal’ today for a spot of waxing before Christmas and we got to talking about the condition of my skin. Now, those of you that know, I’m 34, those of you that didn’t; now you do ;-). For the last couple of months my skin has been crazy spotty. Chin, nose, back, chest, even in my hair, it’s gross, trust me. It gets worse, twenty minutes after I’ve washed my face, cleansed, toned and applied a light moisturiser my face feels like I’ve got over zealous with the spray cooking oil.

It’s not even as if I’m eating crisps and greasy crap...I live on fresh fruit, rich rolls, veggies, sushi and meat (not a lot of chocolate although it does sneak in on occasion and I partial to jelly). And I drink getting on for two litres of water a day as well and green tea.

So, we were discussing my skin, what’s changed? New moisturiser? No. New shampoo? No. Are you having more sex? No more than usual.

Then I remembered, about three months ago I went off the pill due to my high blood pressure (the pill can increase bp), for the first time since I went on it when I was 14.

‘Well, that’s it then. You’re going through puberty, properly!’

I must make a Doctor’s appointment so she can put a stop to it.


(240 words)