So little time, so much to do. Well, there isn’t too much, too much to do but…
Well, my napping is out of control. I haven’t felt well for a while; I’m waiting for an appointment with a lung specialist to find out what that problem is about before I can get my hysterectomy. Maybe I’ll get some energy once the breathing thing and the fibroids are gone, maybe. Apparently I have the equivalent of a five month pregnancy, that’s what I get for wishing the tubular ligation wouldn’t work.
Of course I’ve been doing a lot that makes me anxious lately. I’ve restarted writing class, D&D and miniature painting, a little scary, but all with two of my children in tow; Tabby, aka the Silence and Alex, aka Dafty Bat or ‘She’s Fallen Down Again’. I went to seven Fringe Festival shows, trying to build myself up to attending live shows. And I’m trying to organise the zillion therapists and supports, etcetera in our family’s lives.
What I want to do is write. But I have to have an important talk with Alex, I don’t know why.
Actually, that talk was worth it. I mean the reason I am so reluctant to talk to my daughters is that I feel helpless, I’ve been trying everything I can think of to help them overcome the incredible challenges in their lives, since well before the first one arrived. When you know that something is wrong with you , you plan whether its appropriate to plan a pregnancy, and your specialists have your diagnosis wrong so tell you it’s a good idea.
But for once Alex had a problem I actually had an idea for, that hadn’t failed too often before. She had writer’s block; I’ve had writer’s block. Hurray, I can delude myself that I have been useful for well minutes on the strength of this non abject failure.
I have an easy life, great country, supported, helped, nothing too bad has happened to us. But I am completely physically wreaked by my depression and anxiety past and present. It costs to do things, I costs not to, so much more as the negativity of the quiet emptiness fills you, but if I want to go out, I must accept I will be exhausted and need extra sleep.
My mother’s 80th birthday has just past, and I know what you are thinking, “Why not give her an old birthday card, she won’t remember?”
To that I say, No, shame on you, she deserves some recognition on this special birthday. Besides Tabitha will probably dob and then the old bat will kill me. Don’t complain about me calling my mother an evil old bat. 1, that voice to word had malfunctioned and old bat was the theme of the reverse cover of the card. And 2, she loved it. I compared ‘Around the World in 80 Days’ to her life, 162 pages of insulting, actually so many people, not just Mum, and she loved it.
Which is a long way of saying:
Sorry I have been slow in posting, it’ll probably get a little better, get so much worse when we hit March aka, the month of Celebrations, so many birthdays so many unwelcome, that’s 54 for Gav and me, 32 for Cat, 30 for Al, 33rd Anniversary, extended family and those who’ve passed, then get better until I have my surgery and rehabilitation, then it might get better, or not.
I’ve met me, I wouldn’t trust a word I say.
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