WFH

I'm prioritising at present and putting my energies where I need them to be, in response to all kinds of stuff - the above thus reflects my current charming approach to Life. I have nasty infections and I'm on antibiotics, I'm at the hospital again soon, and the Doctor tomorrow. I am tired. Medical doom-mongering may however go and fuck itself sideways, and I'm back to dealing with things my way for a bit. The options are for interested parties to assist or get out out of my way. Life is so much easier that way.

Anyway, I may not around much but I'm doing ok - because I say so :)  

Teapot porn

The teaset I have been raving about. Badly photographed but it gives you the gist.

I find imagining frisky men looking for Femdom or chastity stuff and finding this instead really entertaining.

The last 48 hours.

• N had a motorbike accident involving a large male deer running fast into the bike. It’s a miracle he’s alive really, there are loads of fatalities here for people in cars let alone being hit on a bike. He is basically ok, a few small injuries only. Astonishingly he managed to avoid actually coming off the bike, thank God. If he had come off I wouldn't fancy his chances.
• We had a small but distressingly fast-growing fire, which I was putting out at exactly the same time that N staggered home announcing his crash, so I was trying to deal with both these things at once with a young shrieking child in tow for that added touch of worry.
• The bike is badly smashed up in numerous places, obviously. It won't be covered on the insurance for lengthy reasons.
• N has had his ECG and the results of that thankfully seem fine at least. That is a great relief to me.
• The results of his bloodwork should be in tomorrow.
• He now needs to get his lungs checked.
• If anyone wants me I will be curled up in a ball in the corner hitting my head repeatedly on the wall. N cannot for the life of him understand why I may be stressed to fuck by the way - I'm going to need a fucking ECG at this rate.

Snuggly Sunday

N is not feeling great at present, he has a lot of pain and is really struggling. So it was especially lovely to find he had helped arrange lots of particularly lovely things for me today. I have had presents, flowers, afternoon tea including a frankly obscene amount of cake, and we snuggled up and watched a movie and then I took a nap. It’s all been very nice and snugglesome and probably the last thing anyone wants to read about. Good slaving N :)

Tra la la.

Imperfection

None of the people I love are objectively ‘perfect’.

A random sample shows one who sometimes has mood swings that could shift continents (his name is N, you may have heard of him). One who is extremely gentle, innocent and has a sometime alarming inability to cope with certain forms of pressure, (which is one of the things he has me for). One has a temper, and an addictive personality. One goes into total denial about things she can’t cope with and then shuts down when they occur anyway. One is too scared to be brave (though I am seeing signs of a change occurring). One is very classbound, and something of a snob. One suffers from depression. One is the most wonderful loving, giving, regal, accomplished and glorious woman you could wish to meet, but has the most astonishing ability to select the most maladjusted men you could ever wish to meet. Blah blah. In short my loved ones are people.

I happily love them regardless of these imperfections. I accept them as human which is after all a chronic condition of inherent imperfection.

And they too love me, despite the fact I am messy as sin, and more imperfect than many of them. For me, being seen and loved as I am at that time; not through the filter of some imaginary future point where I will have accomplished whatever I am working on, am better, more serene, more whole, less fractured, braver, more settled, slimmer or with shinier hair; is an important part of being recognised, of being seen, of being loved.  I don’t feel I have to pretend to be ‘perfect’ or any better than I am to my loved ones. They know I am fragile as fine crystal in some ways, and as resilient as diamond in others (in a Vickers hardness test way rather than a fifties film star way though, sadly - see above re shinier hair. A diamond after all is essentially just charcoal that's handled stress exceptionally well). They know my weaknesses as they do my strengths, and when I throw myself into a mission that is important to me they scoop me up when I stagger bloody out the other side even if they think I should have quit it ages back, because they know me.



Diamond, sparkly, fractured, and no shiny hair.

So, for me, my lack of perfection is something that I don’t want to have to hide in a close relationship. I am confident enough to know my ‘good’ bits are easily admirable to some, so it’s having someone love the complete package that is ‘me’, or at least the bits I elect to reveal (or reveal unintentionally) at that time, that means ‘love’ to me. I’m talking love in all it’s forms here by the way.

I’d go as far as to say that when people start declaring they consider me a great wonder it means very little when I know they just know the shiny parts of me. See me under a heap of books on the bed, surrounded by coffee mugs, mess, screwed up balls of paper and tissues, and cereal bar wrappers then we'll talk.

So, while I would never pretend I am in fond of transparency for myself, I do think that love, whatever form it may be, needs to be based on much more than just shiny stuff.

It's liberating being a whole, messy person. When I look at people who try to show their best selves all the time I just find myself thinking they must be exhausted.

Notes from the edge

Welcome to Depressive Monthly, your one source stop of whining and woe!

Consider the above a disclaimer and only read on if you are not looking for rainbows.

This is a synopsis of a few key points of the last few weeks;

• I went to the hospital where I discovered that my medication is showing some troublesome indicators in my bloodwork. This is almost definitely caused by the medication that they had to dance around the rules to give me in the first place, and the only thing that has ever made any serious impact on managing my condition. I am therefore obviously reluctant to come off it as they are to take me off it. But the bloodwork is raising questions. I am reduced to basically crossing my fingers.
• They also told me that they have now thrown every single thing they can at matters, and this is as good as it will get. Not what I wanted to hear, obviously.
• They are therefore referring me to another hospital to discuss things such as wheelchairs. I am resistant to say the least but have agreed to go to at least get information.
• I was signed off as unfit for work four weeks ago and have just been signed off for another four weeks. This is worrying me extremely in terms of my future even though it is not necessarily a permanent state of affairs.
• 

• Nigel started some medication a few months ago that he reacted very, very badly to. It seriously fucked him up and it’s not a stretch to say he lost it entirely. We (read I) therefore spent a Hellish few weeks trying to manage some quite horrifying outcomes. The Dr took him off the meds and as they leave his system he is returning day by day. He is very shaken by the whole thing though, as am I.
• As if that wasn’t enough for him poor N was run over while walking on a pavement (no serious injury but an issue none the less) and thus we have police officers in and out of the house.
• It transpires that I have significant bone erosion on my jaw bone. I have two old breaks on my jawbone, and I also had surgery on my jaw about three years ago. From what I can gather, the ‘joint’ at the break point and the normal joint are sort of joining up. This is obviously not desirable. Nigel to his credit has yet to make a blowjob joke but will eventually - it is inevitable.  My favourite jokes so far are"It hasn't eroded. It's simply reshaping itself so that you will one day be able to unhinge your jaw and swallow your prey whole" - "You know, if you want to bawl everyone out more efficiently you could just get a megaphone" - and "Well you don't chew blood babe". 

• There have been some very sad things happening that have nothing to do with N or I directly, but which have really deeply saddened me.
• Inspired by all of the above I have been pretty depressed, but am managing on as best as I can, ably assisted by my crack team of friends without whom I may have lost the plot entirely.

Anyway, that’s why I have not been a ray of sunshine lately and N has disappeared from the internet. We are however intact, together and trying to roll with the punches. 

Oh and somewhere in all this I turned thirty nine.

Soldiering on

Yes, I’m still alive.

My RA flared even with the steroids, though the steroids do seem to have made the effects of the flare more limited; especially for this time of year which is when I usually have my most debilitating episode; which is not to be sniffed at. But either way I am out of action at present. Ce la vie.

N is not well either. Us both being significantly unwell simultaneously is a new low for us. So far we are both just about hanging in there, and thankfully so far our very bad days are not coinciding. His medication has wrecked his stomach, and is having side effects which are frequently worse that the original problem.  I’m planning on kicking up a fuss if there is no resolution soon. I want my boy back damn it.

We are ok. No major crisis, but things are off simply because we are both so wrecked. The cause is self-evident but none the less neither of us care for it. N is craving my normal dominance, but frankly he’s not well enough for anything other than the fundamentals whatever he thinks. I am missing the service I usually receive but again, needs must. Still, I’m feeling tetchy, this isn’t how I like things.

I put a plan for when this sort of thing happened on FL a while ago, and I’m going to action some of the strategies written there. I’ve already done some. N being unwell has complicated things though, as naturally I hadn’t planned for that. Thankfully I have some additional assistance at present. I may also get S down to generally entertain me and lend a hand.

N’s birthday is coming up and I want to be ok for that if I can. I booked us a cheap trashy motel room afterwards, in the best traditions of sleaze. I often take him to a nice hotel for his birthday, but money is still tight, and to be honest we use nice hotel rooms much as we use sleazy trashy places. We fuck a lot, I hurt him a lot, we sit in bed eating lovely and improbable ‘away from home’ things, and we go out and run around. We do sleazy places moderately frequently (you’re shocked having thought we did dirty things at Claridges aren’t you?) and I don’t think N cares ether way to be honest. In fact he says he gets more room to crawl in the cheap places. I think it’s probably just me that likes the bathrooms and breakfasts at swankville.

Today has been a round of medical appointments. A consultant looked at my screwed up knee and cleverly decided it’s screwed up, I had blood tests etc. I am feeling a bit better today than the last couple of days, though that could be drugs. Tonight is big drug night so maybe that will help. Keep your fingers crossed for me please.

I’m dieting and shifting some of the weight I’ve put on at a pleasing rate. I’m currently losing about a pound a day so that’s something and I am hoping to be back to normal fairly soon. And despite being unwell I’m making some inroads into my various plans for new year – on the ones that can be done from the comfort of home anyway.

Groan

Holy Mother of fuck I feel shit today. Last night was weekly big drug night and the day after that is always far from sparkling, the RA is surging as the steroids haven’t kicked in yet, and yet the steroids are making their presence felt in terms of side effects.  As such it is 16:00 and I have only just staggered out of the shower and am sitting here with wet hair in a dressing gown. Bleurgh.  

Weirdly though this really problematic burn on my stomach I’ve been battling with (this is such a sexy post isn’t it?) is suddenly healing. Huh. No idea why but yay for that at least. Maybe it heralds a swing in the right direction? 

(I cannot find my cellphone charger by the way; I have someone searching for me though; so if you are a real life person just reading to find where the hell I am, home phone, email or FB me please x )

Fifth Anniversary

Today marks the anniversary of me officially owning N for five years. I owned him before that really, but this was the date when we made it official, with collars and official promises and all that jazz.

These five years have been quite the roller coaster in some ways, we’ve experienced so much together - some quite amazingly wonderful times, and some moments when we have just bloody despaired. But underneath everything, my owning him also often gives our lives a wonderfully peaceful quality that we both revel in.

We’ve created a new family. We have moved to a new home in a new area and he created me things I really wanted. Our careers and lives have changed unrecognisably. We have run around going ’Wheeeeeeee!’ having adventures, with serious down and dirty, very bad, but utterly fucking awesome fun, causing trouble, and generally laughing and growling a lot.  We’ve fucked each others brains out, and remarkably, despite prediction have managed not kill each other. Quite the achievement.

He’s been reprogrammed mentally to think and respond in all manner of new ways that are miles away from where he started. He’s been isolated, then been thrown back into the world and I watched him blinded by the light and the noise of it out there, desperate to return to my side. He’s been dragged through some trials as only I can do (it’s a talent). He's dealt with me having other lovers of both genders, despite believing for a long time that it would break him if I had other men. He’s acquired a lot of scars, screamed, bled, collapsed, been pissed on, begged, cried, been arse fucked relentlessly, been scalded, been fitted with plugs for long periods of time, been given enemas, been  kicked, punched, slapped, scratched, restrained, face fucked by men and arse fucked by men just because I say so, been caged, been the subject of porn, been beaten excessively, been chained, been humiliated in the extreme, had sharp things stuck in him... and I must have drunk litres of his blood in this time. When I'm too ill to move my head he cuts his wrist and tenderly holds it to my mouth for me because he knows blood will give me a boost.

Five years today

The bad times have been pretty dark, some of our own making, and some just what Life has thrown at us. We’ve both had very significant bereavements and propped each other up through them. We’ve both had surgery. He’s been injured looking after me. I developed a chronic health issue that really blew our fucking lives up, and despite the mayhem that caused we held on by our fingernails and somehow staggered through intact, taking it in turns to drag the other one as needed. He’s wanted to throw the towel in and discovered just what ‘can’t leave’ means in reality when you're mine, and afterwards he’s been glad that I’m such an awesome bitch at the head tampering and the violence.

We love each other deeply, passionately, primally. We looked at each other six years ago and sort of went ’Oh it’s you. Actually I don’t officially know anything about you do I?’ There is a connection based on recognition as much as anything else, a bit like two predatory animals recognising each other through pure instinct and trying to decide whether to try and take each other out, or pair up and form a pack (being natural thrill seekers we initially sort of tried both simultaneously, you know, just for kicks). He doesn’t get all kinds of things about me, but he gets some of the bits that other people freak out about. So ok, yeah, he’s bemused by my flashes of uber-camp, my faith, some of my relationships, my cultural circles – but I don’t need him to get those things,  I have other people for that. His place is to be mine with all that that entails. There's nothing he wouldn't do for me and owning him feels like home for both of us.

…. And with all that and pages and pages more besides, what is the one thing that other people always remember? That I sold his bloody Ducati.

Happy anniversary N xxxxx

'A moderately good play with a badly written third act'.

The last few weeks have been trying for about a hundred and one reasons, but I’m pleased to say things are now looking up :)  Not perfect, but much better; 

·         N’s pain in his knee and insomnia (resulting from the pain keeping him awake) plus various other things wildly exacerbated his traditional seasonal slump, and eventually I marched (well, limped) him to the Doctors. He’s back next week but he’s already much more like his normal self.

·         As I let up on him for a while when he was really not ok through necessity, he managed to interpret as some slight on his slavery (slave logic does not resemble any other logic). Bossing and belting him around again has him looking quite cheerful and comfortable again. I have some pretty and painful declarations of love planned for him after his next trip to the GP which I’m sure will make his heart sing. One must be pragmatic about marks etc. after all.

·         Speaking of cuts ;) I have cut his working hours quite a lot however as this seems sensible. He is pleased but concerned about this.

·         Meanwhile in our alternate timeline S is not in a good place either and I am very worried about him. So both my boys have been messed up lately , a state of affairs I am less than thrilled about. There is now a some extra support in place for him however.

·         My health is still holding out and we are well into December! Hurrah! I am gleeful. My body appears to be trying to flare but the clever drug cocktail is winning. I am back on a decent sized dose of a drug I usually avoid but so far no ill effects and good results. All hail drugs!

                          

·         Not being a fool however and being aware that Christmas is a-coming I am trying to get that well and truly sorted just to be on the safe side. This is going well. Pretty much all gifts, cards, and non perishable food are purchased, and the To Do list regarding this is getting shorter. Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaaahhhh.

·         I am planning a course for January and am busying away with sorting that out.

·         Finances are tight, largely as we have had a lot of unexpected large expenses lately.

·         The traditional Winter damp which we have thrown a fucking fortune at since buying this house is back. I’m so glad for the epic amounts of money, time and effort we have spent on this little hobby. 

·         And speaking of water let us not forget the boiler demanding financial attention. There is an aquatic theme emerging actually. Perhaps I should buy a boat next.

·         Actually, ~ invisible secret telling ink~ I am planning on finally learning to drive in the new year. Now, I’ll admit this probably sounds less exciting than a boat but it’s a big move for me. I have to have a couple of medical bits verified, sort some minor mods, and renew my driving license then I plan to give it a go.  I’ve even chosen where I’m going to go.

So anyway, that’s a not very thrilling overview of what’s been going on.

My butterfly is too shiny.

Today was a very early start and a Cambridge day. The interesting bit is that I went to a  Vermeer exhibition  at the Fitzwilliam museum and got to see The Lacemaker and The Music Lesson which was very cool. Other highlights for me included The Reader by Eglon van der Neer, and A Woman at a Window by Jacobus Vrel which I have a secret love for ("Oh screw the housework, it's sunny out there and there are much more interesting things going on. Also yes, I'm fat so if you don't want to look at my arse feel free to avert your eyes irrelevant viewer"). Ok, it's just possible that I am projecting a little ;)

'Kiss it'.

As they couldn’t find anyone else at that moment, I also got roped briefly into waffling on about a painting (The dead Christ supported by the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene, by Bassetti in case anyone is randomly curious). This basically involved me saying things like 'Slate is very dark, and look this one’s not broken. How super!' I’m a  fucking genius I tell you. Amusingly I was asked to take my butterfly hairband off as I suspect butterflies don’t look learned (though they sweetly pretended it was because it was too shiny for camera). Snort. This amused me immensely.   

What else? Aside from practical stuff there was Christmas shopping, including a rather entertaining present for N which I am sniggering about as I type (I think I am hilarious with this and I nearly laughed like a loon in the shop when I saw it. Oh bad puns, how I love thee), more art supplies for a big present I’m making up, and books. Also purple leather gloves for myself from N as miraculously I found a pair that fitted my decidedly non-dainty hands. I sent him a text to tell him he'd bought me a lovely present and naturally as a good slave he was thrilled I'm quite sure.

Coffee, Welsh cakes, nattering, and some generally pleasant Cambridge time.  The festive season is definitely upon us in terms of the shops, it was carols on the speakers and mulled wine scent in the air systems of big shops, which is one of the many reasons I try to avoid them like the plague. I also detected that first whiff of frenzy in the air, lots of Very Middle Class women buying things like shawls with artsy recycled glass beads on, and darling china tea cups in special satin lined gift boxes etc.

Then home on the train and a trudge through the rain in the dark to find a slave waiting with tea for me. Is there anything nicer than coming in tired and cold to find someone dutifully waiting with lovingly pre-prepared tea? I realise most people see O/p as being one long round of chains and debauchery but as far as I am concerned tea is a major component. In fact next time someone puts one of those threads up in the O/p group asking 'what the cornerstone of O/p is' I think I shall reply that here at least, it is tea.

Tonight is my weekly big drugs night so I shall try to fit as much as possible in before I take it. But first dinner. And then, shockingly, some more tea.

Patchwork Monday

Shedwatch: Door now assembled and just needs fitting.

Slavewatch: He's doing better, much more like his old self. I am assuming this is the result of sleep as much as anything else.

Sleepwatch: Insomnia last night triggered by tangible interruption and pain. I got up to not disturb N as much as anything else. There's no point in drugging him to sleep then keeping him awake. I'm really tired though.

As well as the above, in amongst other dull stuff, today I;

Rushed about too early, and too cold. It's bloody FREEZING here.

Went to a delightful tea shop and had hot chocolate ('for warmth') and toffee tiffin.

Had a lot of very hot sex. Again 'for warmth'.

Woefully failed to complete my to do list.

Bought a wooden Mexican calavera (day of the dead skull) pendant thing from a cool guy called Matt that I really like.

Bought lots of Christmas presents online and in the Mildenhall shops (tons of art supplies & a few toiletries).

Played a lot of Tori Amos, and a new copy of an old Kate Bush CD.

Came up with a fucking brilliant plan involving N, more of which later. I’m sure many of you will enjoy it immensely however :D

I now need to get stuff ready for an early start in the morning, but first I’m going to drink this tea.

Bloody Sunday

My weekend has been a blur though it shouldn’t have been. And today, we emerged from our Sunday morning bed and put up a shed. Quite wonderfully N did most of the manual stuff this time, and my role mostly involved just working out how it all went as the instructions were both idiotic and misleading, and N understandably couldn’t fathom it, demonstrating - ’no I mean turned  180 degrees then tilted to this angle, so the holes line up’, - and doing the assistant jobs like holding panels in place and passing screws. It was just like being a glamorous assistant but without the glamour. I’m doing this Mistress lark wrong again aren’t I?

The new shed being up is something I wanted though as it’s a key part of Operation Sort The Storage Crisis, Reclaim The Lean To, And Thus Get My Art Desk Out From Under Things Like Bloody Chainsaws.  

Please note, ‘bloody chainsaws’ in this sense is me being British, and not some act of diabolical sadism. Thankyou ;)

.....But chainsaws don't belong on art desks.

Angst in Ely.

Tuesday was a very busy day, but I managed get a lot done, and also spend some enjoyable time doing nice things, aka shopping – pretty thermal base layer top, ‘there is no such thing as bad weather just the wrong kit’ etc, five 16 x 12 dark wood picture frames for some lovely prints, a flask with birds on, a Cath Kidston gadget case, purple lip gloss, brown hair dye (used last night), silver wire love heart earrings, electric toothbrush heads (sexily)   - and having a gingerbread latte in Ely too, which was good.  Lovely in fact.

Ely Cathedral (which is lovely, by the way)

While in Ely, I also did something somewhat compulsive however. You see, it’s my Mother’s birthday soon. Every single birthday, and Yule (and various other times, randomly), I go through this quite deranged thought process, usually in the early hours of the morning.

'I wonder how Mum is. It’s her birthday soon. I wonder if she’s ok. I can’t send her anything to try to make her happier for her birthday now. I could send a card. No, that would be stupid. What good would it do? You know it won’t actually do anything helpful. And anywhere you can’t send a card because then she’ll know where you live. Ah, well I could send one when I’m away from home, especially if I’m in a different county. Cambridge is the obvious answer because then she will automatically assume I’m still in Cambridge. I’m going to [X place] this week, I wonder if that would do. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue. A card wouldn’t make her life nicer anyway. I could send a totally anonymous gift of neutral but nice things, sort of like a hamper. Then she wouldn’t know it was from me. And I could put all her favourite stuff in. But then she would know it was me because who else would know all her favourite stuff? And who else would be sending her anonymous gifts? I suppose I could put some stuff she doesn’t like in it as well to blur the matter. Oh FFS, that’s ridiculous. The card idea was stupid enough. Though the card isn’t useful, but a gift would be, so it’s actually less foolish. But both are idiotic plans. I’d have to lug my no doubt heavy secret parcel full of useful lovingly chosen gifts (and sneaky unwanted ones?) a long way, to get round the location issue which is ridiculous. A card would at least not be difficult in that manner. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue……'

And on this goes. Seriously, this is how nuts this issue drives me. On no other matter am I ever a basket case a’la this.

On Tuesday though as I was walking round a shop in Ely  buying the picture frames I found myself staring at the cards and decided to do it. Away from home? Check. Right time of year? Check. Cards just sitting there? Check. Idiotic fucking crazycakes idea? Check. First we had the ‘which card will be the most appropriate option’ dilemma. A huge rack of cards and pretty much every one had a landmine on it. That one says too much loving stuff. That one mentions being happy and she can’t be happy. That one is too fun, she’ll see it as taunting. That one is too affectionate. That one she’ll think is childish and see as patronising. That one she’ll see as too plain and a rebuff. That one is dark colours and she’ll take as some cruel thing. That one has a family on it. That one she’ll see as something to do with the devil. That one has a garden on it and that’s the last thing I need. That one will make her get depressed about her dead cat. On and on it goes. In the end I went for what seemed the best option but which I know she will analyse and find a thousand faults with.

Then I packed it away and tried to put it out of my head, and went for the aforementioned vat of gingerbread latte. About halfway through my pint sized mug it was time to write the card. This involved writing out several carefully worded options in my notebook in an effort to get the most non inflammatory phrasing I could. Then agonising about them for a while and scribbling and editing. Then looking through my pens to try to find an ink that would be most acceptable. Black she’ll see as hostile. Of the options in my bag at this precise minute that leaves purple and gold. Gold is out as she’ll say she can’t read it. That leaves purple, which she’ll bitch about for it’s flamboyance and no doubt turn it into some homophobic thing. But purple is not going to register as actually aggressive  and it’s visible so I shall have to go with flamboyant-burn-in-Hell-you-invert-dyke ink.  Unless I go to the shops for a blue pen. Which I’m not doing because I shouldn’t be doing this anyway and holy fuck all this dicking around is fucking ridiculous. What the fuck am I doing? Since when do I do shit like this?



Apparently purple is 'flaky' rather than dykey and thus I should not have worried  ^



So, with my flamboyant lesbian ink I carefully (because my handwriting will be analysed and shown and discussed in great detail) transcribed my carefully crafted phrasing. I have pretty nice handwriting usually, unless my hands are especially bad I often get compliments on it. But yesterday presumably because I was in this tensed up, making an effort state my writing was shit on the inside of the card (though tellingly totally back to my nice normal writing for the name and address on the envelope, when I wasn’t thinking about it). 

And let us not forget the whole what to write re names debacle. What to call her? I went with ’Mum’ as really, all other options come off as mean, but I know it will piss her off. Then there is what to call myself (long story, don’t ask). I went with my forename. This will not go down well, but what else to do?

Then I looked it over in detail and stressed about it an considered buying a new card and a blue pen and again decided I had let this idiocy already take me far too far into crazyville. The above is about as opposed to my normal behaviour as is possible.

Then whether to tuck the envelope in, or stick it shut. Was the stamp in squarely enough? Would an Ely postmark cause a problem? Should I just throw it in the bin (Sensible answer: yes. Chosen behaviour: no)? And eventually I posted the stupid fucking thing.

The fact that I can normally do the things I do, competently and happily, but this turns me into a total clusterfuck of insecurity and stress is precisely the reason I should not send cards. But now I have and that means I may have accidentally set a premise. I never thought of that, because I was too busy persuading myself not to do it.  

Well trained owner.

07::00, deepest darkest Suffolk. Half asleep. Cold. 

Dashing to get ready to leave for Cambridge any minute now.

Before I can do so though I must get small child ready for school and there is a flaw in the system. Her leggings, necessary for basketball club, which I handwashed last night are still slightly damp. Bugger.

So, naturally in my half asleep; and crucially let us not forget arthritic with Very Dodgy Hands; state I take definitive action. I decide to quickly dry off her leggings by holding them over the gas ring of the cooker. They are not too damp after all and this will solve the matter quickly. I iz a genius, yes?

Ok, so it’s moronic even for someone without dodgy hands (someone who is currently sporting a nasty inner wrist burn from an accident involving failed wrist control I might add). And ok, I’d think someone else doing this was stupid…. but it’s cold and I’m in a hurry and I don’t want to traipse out into the cold to the tumble drier and fight with the lock for five minutes (because my hands are bad.....)

….. But this irritating voice in my head kept saying “If you drop these and set fire to yourself and the kitchen and have to explain to N just how you did this he’s going to lose his shit. Just think of the sanctimonious fire safety lecture, and how he will forever more have legitimate ammo with which to deem you to be a fire hazard of the highest order. And also what a fucking dick you’re going to feel explaining this to other people”.

Warning: Placing fabric, unstably, over naked flame is bad kids.

And thus, like a well trained owner I eventually traipsed out to the tumble drier and shall get the leggings out when I leave in ten minutes.

I am trueness personified. But kudos N - job well done.

Life is hard, and so are we.

A lot of life is pretty crap here at the moment.

N is ill,  in lots of pain, tired and volatile. I am stressed to fuck (for all sorts of quite significant reasons) and staggering on as best I can, periodically finding myself freezing and just wanting to stop the world for a while. I’m not sleeping with a vengeance; this is major insomnia even by my standards; so of course I’m becoming increasingly exhausted which isn’t helping. When the alarm goes in the mornings every day I consider just opting out of the day. Can I fuck everything and just stay in bed? Just today? Just for an hour. I can I can I can…. I can’t. Bugger.

N and I have both used our emergency-emergency-emergency energy reserves, in different ways. We are crawling through the days and things feel endless. It's cold. We have had loads of big unexpected expenses at a time when finances are majorly overstretched. And I’ve slashed N’s working hours for the sake of his health which is of course perfect timing.

N is going to the Dr next week. I meanwhile am thinking of radical action. So the ‘plan’ such as it is, is to basically stagger on and hope the strategies we are implementing will work in time.

Other news? Well I have put on lots of weight (medication and problematic eating – I either can’t eat at all or I am eating carbs. Marvellous).

But I have really nice new purple hair, and currently have a 'fuck it all' Turkish Delight cocktail, while N is listening to music and winding down, so things are not all bad :D

Onwards.