Here I am, awake and shit at four am. Also swearing which I’m not supposed to be doing during Lent. Maybe I just gave up saying “bad” words and typing them is excusable under Lenten curse regulations. Who decides which words are bad? I might be displaying my etymological ignorance but why is c*** – I can’t even bring myself to type it – so taboo and vagina isn’t? Or “prick”? Why’s it ok to call someone a prick but not a C-word? Is it because it’s somehow more sacred or is there a reference I’m missing?
Someone call an etymologist.
I’d love not to be sick. I’m writing this from my death bed. That may be a slight exaggeration, although two hours ago, before copious amounts of Ibuprofen and Paracetamol kicked in, I did think it might be time to draft my will. Then I remembered I have nothing to bequeath to anyone except the dogs and my knitting and let’s face it, the dogs will eat the knitting; needles and all, before I drown in a pool of my own snot and phlegm (this dose is utterly disgusting) so if anyone wants one neutered-but-aggressive-towards-small-dogs-because-they’re-yappy-and-annoying whippet and one batshit-crazy-bin-obsessed-emotionally-needy-thinks-everywhere’s-a-toilet lab collie, please call me on 1800-WOMAN-FLU.
Apart from being at death’s door, it’s been a good week. Playschool’s been positive; I’ve got a few things done with minimal I’m-Afraid-of-the-Whole-World drama and ElsaDaughter hasn’t been taken into care or collapsed from malnutrition. Lol jk. As if. An ample supply of blueberries and shortbread and she’s happy enough to hang on in there with ManicMama.
“I can’t have a blueberry for a daughter!”
I had to shriek that line in a production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as Mrs. Beauregard (did I spell that right?) about seventy five years ago. My accent came out as some odd Alabama stereotype which seems to be my default stoopid American accent whenever I’m in Texas, which is not Alabama. I’m sure that’s as bad as confusing English and Irish accents. Well, is anything as culturally faux pas as that?
I really feel pretty good in my head. I’ve had fairly normal patterns and emotions. My reactions to annoying people and potentially stressful situations like you know, laundry – NIGHTMARE! – have been reasonable ones. I’ve had a few night sweats nights, one particularly uncomfortable, but nothing epic. The sad irony is that having made it through such a traumatic six months (has it really been so long this time?), I’m now halted in my tracks by the common cold. Unfortunately, having a high tolerance for painkillers and other (legal, I must stress) pharmaceuticals (I wonder how I built up that resistance?) I must suffer the slings and arrows of viral gunge.
If you don’t hear from me again just know, it wasn’t the depression/BPD/delayed onset PTSD/suicide ideation/chronic anxiety that got me in the end. It was the head cold.