Thirteen Years...

At 12:21pm today, my precious Bethy will have been gone from me for thirteen years. On one hand, that feels like a lifetime ago, but on the other, it feels like it has only just happened.

This past year has not been great, and for some reason, that has made today feel more raw and visceral than the last few years, and I honestly feel like I am struggling to hold myself together - today is making that feel almost impossible.

In the early hours of the morning, I was sat in the dark missing Bethy, and my emotions ranged from sadness at losing her, anger at my inability to do anything about it, I smiled remembering all the funny things she did, and enormous love for her and how she made people feel.

But I miss her. I miss her every single day, but today I miss her more than anything.

Having a memory like I do, I remember the events of this day thirteen years ago almost like it only just happened. The voices, the words they were using, the expressions on faces, the sounds of machinery, even the smell.

Seeing my little Bethy laying there at the end of her fight was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with. And it kills me every time it pops into my mind - usually unbidden, sometimes when I am thinking about her and her running around, invariably, my mind will slip back to that place. So much reminds me of her and of the hospital, but today, I am struggling to see the good times, the laughs, the happy little Baby Moo, the big cuddles with her tiny little arms around my neck and her breath on my skin.

Today, I am struggling. Today, I am missing my beautiful little princess, daddys little gorgeous, ever so much.

To my beautiful Bethy,

Holy hell am I missing you baby. Today more than ever. It has been thirteen years since you left, and time hasn't healed any wound. The wound just got different. But this year, it feels like it's been scratched open, and today it is ever so painful.

I miss you so damn much. I miss seeing you dance, I miss hearing you giggle, I miss you being naughty. You went through so much and were always the bravest person I ever knew, so strong and full of fight. Even today, I think about how amazing you were - sitting through tests and prodding and poking and having procedures done - always with more bravery than I have ever seen.

Thirteen years is a long time, but also no time at all. And I have missed you every single day of those years. I still cannot listen to certain songs. I still notice when the clock his 12:21. 

You would be so proud of your brothers and sisters. I wish they had the chance to meet you. And I see you in Poppy so much it's almost scary. So many people in my life now should have met you. Kellie would have doted on you. You'd have Dom and Molly wrapped around your little finger within minutes, and Nanny Diane would do anything you asked. 

Where ever you are my baby, I miss you. I hope you are still dancing. I hope you are still as full of love as you ever were. I wish I could see you again my gorgeous. And I will, in time, I know that. But I have people here that need me for a while yet.

I love you so much Bethany. And I see you baby.

I see you x

When Tiredness Strikes

To say the last few weeks have been absolute f$cking sh!t a bit hectic is putting it mildly...

The details aren't all that gritty - first off, I've been running around like a blue-arsed fly most days just doing "stuff" - housework, kids stuff, cooking, cleaning and so on. On top of all that, I had my second Pain Management appointment where I actually got to see someone trying to help me...

Their plan seems a little arse-about-face if I am honest, but I can see their reasoning. One of my meds, the Pregabalin, is - in my opinion - doing sweet F.A, but in case it IS working, I am not allowed to just stop and change meds.

So to get me in less pain, we're starting by... reducing my meds... Marvellous.

Yes, I get why they can't just stop them (pesky stroke and risk of death and all that) but it isn't any fun for me as I am still in pain 24/7, am still sleeping very very little, and still a moody bastard that everyone hates.

On top of that.

Kellie decided to have one of her Heart-Attacks-That-Isn't-A-Heart-Attack sessions... The day before the Main Event, she was at work and went very wonky. Chest Pains, Left Arm Pain, crushing feeling on the upper body, going a lovely shade of Corpse Grey... Everyone in the office had a flap, plus she got a telling off for not having her GTN spray handy. But, at her insistence, she was fine and that was that, and gradually the pain went away.

Following a bad night, and feeling much much worse the following morning, she did it again. I don't know, maybe as I missed the events at work, she thought she would give me an action reply. Chest pains. Crushing feeling. Left arm pains. Grey ashen colour.

BUT she didn't want a lot of fuss - we've been told many times that it's not a heart attack (despite telling THEM we know it's not a heart attack, on account of her not being dead and all) so instead of dialling 999 and getting an Ambulance out, we opted for the NHS Helpline on 111.

As soon as the woman answered, I explained that we know that despite how it sounds, her symptoms are not her having a heart attack. OK she says. So I go through all of the above, tell her it's happened before, that we know it's not a heart attack, and that we just want a little advice or help or something.

Five minutes later, Mr Solo Paramedic turned up at the door. Oops. You could see neighbours having a nosey through their windows, but I let him in, explaining to him that it's not a heart attack, but here are all the symptoms. He wired her up to the ECG machine and Blood Pressure thingie, clipped on the glowy red finger clip of doom, and sat talking to her.

Funny thing is, she couldn't talk properly as her chest was crushing so she couldn't get her words out and breath very well at the same time. So she sounded like a breathy old lady having a heart attack.

Work with me here love, I'm trying to tell people you're NOT having a heart attack, don't act like you actually ARE.

Her blood pressure was quite high, her ECG was a bit wonky, and her sats were 86-89%.

Mr Paramedic radioed for backup.

Three minutes later, MUCH to my amusement and Kellies annoyance, a biiiig yellow ambulance pulled up behind the flashy-light paramedic car. Out jumped two lady paramedics, AND a trainee fellow, all with lots of kit in tow, and they came into the house under the watchful eye of the neighbours.

The old girl next door popped out, quite worried something bad was happening, so I had to talk to her and calm her down before she needed their help too - she's got a dodgy ticker as well.

With Kellie, three paramedics, me and the two cats wandering around, the downstairs was a weeny bit crowded. Kerry turned up for good measure as well as she was worried too, and Kellie... Well, she wasn't impressed. She felt like shit, and was receiving LOTS of attention.

The four medical people had a conflab, and it was decided that Kellie really really should go to hospital. They had given her GTN and Aspirin (like they do with heart attack and stroke victims) and that eased her symptoms (like it does with heart attack and stroke victims) but told her she really should be checked out.

However, she wasn't allowed to walk out to the ambulance. No, she had to be strapped into one of the special chairs for patients.

And wheeled out on display for all the neighbours to see. Kerry watched too.

Once in the ambulance, we had to sit for a little while so they could be sure she was safe to transport, that her symptoms were a little better, that her ECG wasn't wonky, and her Blood Pressure and Sats were improved.

All were a little better - sats were back into the low 90s, ECG was clear and BP was more normal. And off to A&E they took us. Checking her the whole way, monitoring her so she didn't die and so on.

Once in A&E it was the usual... Sit and wait for a doctor. Go get an Xray. Have a blood test. They also put a cannula in the back of her hand juuuust in case they needed to get quick access for drugs.

Yes, just like people having a heart attack/stroke.

We were in there for hours while she was checked, questioned, prodded, poked and bombarded with Xrays.

The only superpower she developed, however, was "pissed off with being checked, questioned, prodded, poked and bombarded with Xrays" And at no point when she was hooked up to everything and needing a wee, did I turn on the tap and leave the room.

After ALL that, she was given the verdict of "Well, we're happy to say it wasn't a heart attack..."

Er, yes, thank you for that Dr Obvious. "All we can suggest you do is just advise your consultant what's happened, keep your appointments for your Stress Test and Pulmonary Function Test, and go from there"

So once again, no answers, no help, nothing... No, I know, it's not their fault, they can only go by the symptoms - but it would be nice if they could be some help and try working out why this shit has been going on for five years now.

If any of you armchair doctors - no, NOT Dr Google - can explain to me why she gets all the symptoms of a Cardiac Arrest, without the actual Cardiac Arrest, the please let me know so I can go to the doctor, specialist, consultant or whatever and say "What about THIS" instead of feeling like they just throw random diagnosis out and then a few months later, they say "LOL, no, not that"

Anyway... Kellie ended up having the rest of the week off work (They didn't want her there!) and chilling over the weekend.

Which was lucky really as by the time Monday came back around, it was Dom's turn for stuff - even though this was pre-planned shenanigans.

Last year, Dom - being a spaz - hurt his leg playing football. I say hurt, it was a knee dislocation. Lots of pain and crutches and so on. He was checked, told to rest it. A few weeks after that, he did it again because, you know... Spaz.

This went on for a year or so with random dislocations of the left knee, an MRI was done, but nothing mentioned about it, doctors passed it on from GP to fracture to Xray to MRI to Orthopaedics... Eventually - almost a year to the day of its original dislocation - we got to see a knee specialist.

We were in there for a little while, and the only real option was knee surgery to reconstruct the broken ligament... Er.. Broken Ligament?

The MRI from eight months previous showed that Dom had managed to sever - not tear, but completely sever - the ligament that holds the knee cap in place, and also that prevents the joint dislocating at random intervals.

So surgery was booked in - but for AFTER all his exams.

Monday was the pre-op, and with that being all clear, the surgery was done on Tuesday morning. Now, I am not going to go into me vs. hospitals here. Dom, however, held up like a champ, only getting properly nervous when he was being wheeled into the theatre.

Kellie went in with him and was looking after him while he was knocked out, and after that, we had to go somewhere to do something to pass the time - so opted for the restaurant, drank coffee and ate cake, had a wander around, watched the world fall apart via the news on TV...

He was down in theatre for almost two hours - the surgery took just over an hour - and he was wheeled back in from recovery very whoozy and away with the fairies thanks to copious amounts of drugs. Apparently he was in a lot of pain when he came out of the anaesthetic, so they popped him with some morphine for good measure.

The rest of the day he was spent sitting at his bedside, chatting with him when he was awake, chatting to the nurses when he was asleep, reading, playing on the DS or Tablet... Just passing the time - which is a completely different time inside a hospital. Hospital Time is a strange phenomenon, and some of you will understand exactly what I mean!

Because Molly came up from school and sat with us for a while, we decided I'd take her home to get her fed, watered and into bed, while Kellie stayed at the hospital to spend time with Dom.

Within half an hour of me leaving, things took a bastardly but thankfully brief turn for the worst - all the drugs, the anaesthetic, the antibiotics, the three kinds of pain killers - decided to combine into a concoction that made Doms heart rate go through the roof, and to feel as though his lips, mouth and throat were swelling. Luckily, there was no swelling, but physiologically, he was affected, and his ECG, Blood Pressure, Sats and everything else went completely screwy for an hour. Luckily, Doms surgeon was on the ward, arrived and took control very quickly in a manner that kept Kellie somewhat calm...

After all that, Dom went to sleep and was fine for the rest of the night. Kellie got home and was a nervous wreck, and I feel shitty that I wasn't there when things went pear-shaped... BUT he was - and still is - fine. So no harm done.

The following day, Dom was hurting, tired but otherwise OK, and by lunchtime, the wheels were in motion for discharge. He met his physiotherapists, and started doing his various exercises - painful but necessary. His leg has some bolts of some kind in it, holding his new synthetic ligaments in place. The road is going to be a long one, apparently, with lots of physio and rehab for his leg - even now, it's taken him a week post-surgery just to lift his leg.

The wound itself is pretty... Disappointing... He has two, actually, both covered with a dressing the size of a large-ish plaster.

These two pictures show the site of the surgery. The arrow on his shin was done PRE surgery so they remember which leg to poke holes in, and what leg to NOT cut off. The blue lines are anatomical, showing the kneecap, femur, tibia/fibula (spell check update - the bones are Tibia and Fibula. There is no such thing as a Fibia. Apparently, it's an amalgamation of Fibular/Tibia, and MAY refer to the lower-half of the leg, but it not a recognised word. Thank you Spell Check & Google), and where there are and should be ligaments. Probably showing the team what needed to be done...

The next picture is when Diane - the 0dd Mother in Law - came to visit the other night. Dom, who is living on the sofa at the moment, is playing through the new Tomb Raider game. Nanny wanted a go... So Nanny sat trying to control Lara through bad-guy-infested areas involving cliff edges, gravity, rocks and dying. A lot.

I snapped this picture just after she fell to her death again, and Dom is giggling like a school girl... The look on the old girls face is one she shoots me a lot... Sort of.. Dragonish...

So, all in all, the last two weeks have been shitty. I've not really had anyone I can talk to, so been sitting and dwelling and worrying and thinking and OVER thinking and so on... Hence the blog post - I needed to get it all out and deflate. It's helped a bit, but... I don't know.

No, I am not going to go into me or my issues (pain clinic notwithstanding) and am just trying to get on with everything.

Kellie is better - still getting chest twinges - and she's trying to get hold of her consultants secretary to bring her next appointment forward... Dom is slowly on the mend - still on the sofa, still making funny groany noises when he moves, still getting lots and lots of care and sympathy from me... *ahem*...

Other than that, there have been Parent/Teacher meetings for Jaysen & Molly (both very bright, both very smart, both prone to chatter, both could push themselves harder, etc etc). Tam is doing very well too, reading at a higher-than-normal average, but still trying to play the whiny little girl card when she doesn't get her way...

Life is ticking over with what feels like extremely regular speed bumps, but I'm doing my best to push through it and just carry on... I think I need a break from everything to stop it getting on top of me.

Oh, snail...

I feel like I've been doing this post all day - thanks to Dom (aka, Spaz) needing guiding in Tomb Raider... Anyway, this morning while watering the house-plants, it became obvious to Dom and Myself that I am waaaay over-tired, and waaaay in need of getting out more.

The watering can - which was kept in the garden - had a snail on it. A fact I only realised while halfway through the watering. He was sliding around the outside of the can, drawing little trails as he meandered in circles.

And I was talking to him. Chatting away, apparently. Asking him questions... Dom thought I was definitely strange at this point. By the time I was done and put him back in the garden, "the snail" and become Mr Escargot. Yes, I named the snail. And made sure he was released somewhere cool, damp and shaded.

When I came back upstairs, I was talking with Dom... Considering how weird a snail looks - with his eyes on sodding great stalks, those two strange feeler-stalks, bloody great shell on his back, sliming everywhere - what must WE look like to them?

And then I went on to mime a snail, doing a human impression. Dom laughed till he nearly pissed his pants. Me, a human, pretending to be a snail, pretending to be a human.

I'm either very tired, something has snapped in my head, or I need medical attention.

Apparently.

So, Uh, Yeah...

OK, I hold my hands up. I've been a little bit, a teeny weeny bit.... Lax, in my blogging of late. And when I say "of late" I do mean pushing two and a half months since my last blog post with ACTUAL content. That is, not a Musical Monday and not a Passing Time post.

My bad.

It just seems that, for whatever reason, things have been so up in the air of late, every time I've started or even thought about blogging, I've not followed through. I'd write a blog post and either think "Wow, more moaning" or "Oh look, complaining about pain" or worse, wondering who would contact me asking "Is that post about me?"

Which, I have to say 1) Get over yourself, or 2) If the shoe fits...

The other thought that sort of crossed my mind was the lack of comments I get on a post, but I quickly dismissed that. I write 0ddness for me. It's pretty much my ONLY outlet on life, and while I know people read it, and I love that people enjoy it, it is for me to try and get some order and perspective on my thoughts...

So, with that in mind, I'm going back to regular blogging. It might be that it'll be "ate some toast, washed a cup, fell asleep" posts, or "rant-rave some mundane thing happened" posts that people think is just me being a dick, over-reacting at stuff.

Or, it'll be the final category of post, "ohmygod I'm in pain and my brain is doing THIS SHIT to me!" which for some reason, generates three kind of response.

1) Get Over It
Yes, I could. But if you don't like it, don't read it.

2) Awww Poor You
I'm not posting for sympathy, I'm just saying how I feel.

3) OMG Attention Seeking
No, as above, I'm not posting for ANY response, just stating facts.

OK, this has turned into one of my Randomly Random Rants. Go me.

So. I write for me. If you think I'm bitching about you being a twat, and the shoe fits, it's probably you. If you think I'm blogging to get sympathy or create drama, you're wrong. If you don't like reading about me ranting over what you consider nonsense, I'm not making you read it, go play somewhere else.

You might also have noticed that Messieurs Facebook & Twitter have been quiet. Well, again, same reasons. Life was busy, too much drama, lots of snippy snidey stuff, shitty comments about stuff I was sharing, then I just felt like I was talking to myself, and slowly, I lost faith in humanity. My accounts are still active, but I've not been on either for a pretty long time... I might return at some point, but we'll see.

Where am I, then? Well currently at Silly o' Clock in the morning, I'm in bed, not sleeping. Or I am sleeping, and I'm just THAT talented. In general, well, I suspect that will be a series of blog posts over the next few days.

If you want to talk to me, then I am usually never without my trusty mobile. You can text me if you want. You can use WhatsApp which is better than texting. Being that I am on a 4G smartphone, you can always email me instead. Obviously the first two need my mobile number, which is on my Facebook. Or email me and ask nicely.

I have lots - too much, probably - on my mind at the moment. Thankfully, I've had one or two people there for me when I needed them, but I'm not naming names. Once I start blogging, I suspect my mind will become more ordered and clearer. Less ranty. Less... This post.

Like I say, lots on my mind, lots going on. Hopefully tomorrow I will manage to start getting it down. Purging the brain pan, as it were.

So, thank you :-)

On Being A Benefit Scrounger

With our government being, shall we say, completely out of touch, more and more of late people like myself have been slapped with a great big tag of being "Benefit Scroungers" or similar.

In May of 2000 - after a few months of getting steadily worse. I was signed off of work. After a few months - once my Sick Pay was used up - I was officially moved onto Incapacity Benefit. A benefit that is deemed as a payment for someone that is sick, but with expectations of getting better.

Twelve years later, I am still getting Incapacity Benefit. I have diagnosis of Degenerative Spine, ME/CFS, Depression, and Anxiety - and the first two, the actual reasons I am properly poorly, are not filed under any section of "You're going to be fine, here's a cure"

Even with my own GP and now my CBT Specialist stating that yes I am ill and won't be "fixed" I am tarred with the stigma of being on benefits because it's easy, pays more than working, and I can live an easy life claiming money from "The Taxpayer"  No, to look at me - aside from a shitty day when I am hobbling around - I do not look sick. If I've had a few days of chilling out, I can chat and have a laugh and seem like a normal person, but after a couple of hours of leading a normal life, I am then wiped out for two or three days.

According to pockets of the population, I shouldn't be on benefits, I should go out and get a job.  "Get over it" and similar.

At no point have I sat here chuckling, watching people going out to work while thinking "Suckers! I get more than you!" You may notice that Kellie works... Why? Because being such a brilliant benefit scrounger, the money I get each week covers precisely shit. Even with her wage, we struggle to make ends meet some months.

But yes, being on benefits is SO much easier. I'm not going to go into how I feel on a daily basis - you can read it in posts like this one and get an understanding of my daily life. I would love to work. I would love to be able to get up in the morning (for starters) and get ready, sort kids out, get to work, spend the day working, get home, sort dinner and the house, and so on. HOWEVER. You find me an employer that is going to be willing to get a call from me saying I can't get my socks on in the morning because my body won't move properly. Or an employer that will accept after three or four hours, I will need to go home and collapse in bed with a handful of meds - not to mention, require the following three or four days off because I can't move or function.

And while we're on the subject of meds, find me a boss that will be willing for me to be IN work, take a handful of meds at half ten in the morning, and spend the next four or five hours spaced out, unable to focus and struggling to stay awake. And I don't mean "I get tired" but I nod off regardless of what I am doing - even if I am stood up.

And let's not forget the time off every few weeks to go to my therapy appointment, or to see my GP about tweaking my meds...

I am so sick and tired of being labelled a benefit scrounger, but I retort with: FIND me this employer. FIND me a job in IT or Customer Service that is prepared for me to be one day then off sick for two or three days.

This government has managed to convince so many people in the country that someone on Benefits is probably not entitled to receive them, everyone is now sure people like me are lazy, scrounging, skiving, cheats, lying about a disease or illness or whatever in order to get money for doing nothing.

And who do the government employ in order to examine people like me? Do they send in health care professionals, trained in the ailment that is troubling someone? Do they consult with the doctor that has been trying to sort it for a dozen years? Do they contact the specialist in the area  to find out how I am affected?

Do they f$ck! They send in people that have a list of questions to ask, a series of "Bend this body part" or "Move this body part" with no understanding of mental health, physical problems or anything else - and they base their WHOLE decision on this one forty-five minute meeting... In 45 minutes, they can tell that I am actually healthy and there's nothing wrong with me. Sod the reams and reams of paperwork at the doctors office they could look at. Sod page after page of therapist meetings. Sod the actual letter from the ACTUAL specialist that states what's wrong and how I am affected daily... No no, 45 minutes is all it takes to reinforce the Benefit Scrounger  label.

I wish I was healthy. I wish someone would give me a job. I wish people would stop looking at me, telling me I don't look sick, I need to get over it, that they pay for me to be lazy and so on.

I am so sick of it. Sick to the teeth of it. Of the labels, the looks, the idiot determining that I am actually healthy, of surviving on f$ck-all money, and mostly, I am sick of feeling like this ALL the time.

As an example - today, I had to have my boiler serviced, so I've been in knots screwing over someone I don't know coming into my house and pulling something apart. I've written a Musical Monday post. I've written this post. I've listened to music.

And yet, I have done too much, I am in agony, stressed out and totally miserable with it all. Find me an employer that will deal with someone in a state like I am, sobbing in pain and stress - but I can't take any meds for another two hours.

But yeah, I'm fine, nothing wrong with me. I'm just a Benefit Scrounger.

Well That Took A While...

It has been noted by some (*cough*many*cough*) that yours truly has been missing in action for a while. It's true that 0ddness has not been updated for most of June, and to be honest, my excuses - now I've arranged them in my noggin - sound, well... feeble...

Mainly, I feel like shit. Proper It-Hurts-To-Do-Much-Of-Anything shit. Like a good boy, I take a cocktail of drugs in the morning, and I take my scheduled drugs in the afternoon, and my handful of drugs at bedtime. Plus, during the day, I am popping painkillers like they are M&Ms. But they don't seem to be doing much of anything. I get out of bed and am in pain. I potter around the house, and it hurts to do so, thus increasing the pain. I try to do "normal" stuff, and it hurts, increasing the pain. I flop on the sofa to chill out, but can't get comfy so fidget around a lot, which increases my pain. I go to bed, and the pain stops me from sleeping properly, so I fidget more and don't rest.

When I DO sleep, it's broken up by pain. So when I get up out of bed, I am in pain.

And the cycle begins all over again.

I've tried those very helpful bits of advice that many have offered of "Push Through It" or "Focus On Something Else And Ignore It" as well as "Get Over It" but aside from just being completely bloody moronic, all those bits of advice do is make me worse. I grin, bear it, grit my teeth, push through the pain - and end up making myself feel a million times worse for longer.

Yeah, THANKS for that advice.

I am still waiting on hearing from someone at the specialist place about my appointment, and if I've not heard anything by Wednesday, I am going to give them a tinkle.

On top of that, I am not sleeping properly again. Partly, over the last couple of nights, it's because the bedroom is silent where Kellie isn't here - as mentioned previously, she is with the 0dd Brother In Law down in Devon - so it's just me and Dom here this weekend (and into the week too).

As mentioned before, thanks to being in pain, I am struggling to get comfortable at night, and thus struggling to sleep properly. Disturbed sleep, more than insomniac sleep I think. I am waking up really early, and staying awake, after not sleeping very well during the night. It doesn't matter if I go to bed at 10pm or 1am, I automatically wake up at 0430 for NO reason at all, and stay awake. I then find myself nodding and fighting my body shutting down between 1pm and 3pm, and again at around 8pm...

On top of this, I don't feel like I've stopped of late. There always seems to be something that needs doing, something that needs sorting, somewhere that needs visiting... Monday is Beavers & Cubs, Tuesday is Fat Club, Wednesday Jaysen & Tamsyn come home, Thursday is Scouts... Then we seem to be doing stuff at weekends, alternate Sundays I have to walk the kids back to Jo. All this, while doing normal usual stuff in and around the house.

The boys - now both being in the realm of "Teenager" have developed this attitude of late that can be summed up with "Someone Else Will Do It" They waltz around asking if their laundry is done, when's lunch, when's dinner... Then when asked "Can you bring a wash load down from your room" or "Do that bit of washing up" it's like we've asked them to eat their own shit. End of the world, huffing, eye rolling, whining like girls... Stuff gets dumped in and around the house and just... left. Their room looks like burglars have been through it. They are now on pain of actual DEATH to keep it tidy, otherwise *I* will clear it up.

With bin bags.

I don't know, maybe I am just tired and cranky due to the pain. I don't know what the hell is going on any more to be honest. Life seems to have caught up, over-taken me, but actually run me over and left me at the side of the road. I want to stop hurting. I want to do something mundane without my body paying me back ten-times over. I want to enjoy life without having to bend over for everyone else.

Selfish? Maybe. Every once in a while though, surely that is acceptable?

As one of my favourite song lyrics goes: "I'm sick and tired, of always feeling sick and tired..."

Four Years...

Four years ago today, I was a nervous wreck. I had spent the weekend texting my very-good-friend-that-I-was-actually-having-feelings-for-but-didn't-know-how-to-say-anything.

That weekend, I was home alone, while my very-good-friend-that-I-was-actually-having-feelings-for-but-didn't-know-how-to-say-anything had been at a wedding. Thanks to the joys of her being a little tipsy - and me having been tipsy a couple of weeks beforehand at the home of The Posh One, and making things a little obvious how I felt, she had been making things a little more obvious that perhaps - just maybe - it wasn't me just thinking these things.

So, we agreed to meet up one very hot, sunny Monday, have a drink and a chat.

And that we did. We sat and chatted, and despite knowing it was a very important, life-altering conversation, I was such a wreck throughout it, I cannot remember any of that conversation. Clearly it was traumatic.

I DO remember the aftermath, however. We walked to the pub, had a couple of drinks, and when we left the pub, we were holding hands.

I had gained a girlfriend. Go me.

Four years later, that girlfriend now lives with me, now carried the title of Fiancée, and I get to call her mine every day, as well as calling her Kellie.

Granted, had various friends had their way, our anniversary date would have been a damn-sight sooner. See, everyone could see I liked her. And everyone could see she liked me. And when all these people pointed out this fact to either of us, it was a case of "Pfft don't be silly, we're just friends"

We met up regularly, we had lunch or coffee regularly, she came here, I went there - I stayed over there a few times and she fed me!! But neither of us could see anything other than just hanging out as friends.

Which to SOME, it was a great big pile of hilarity.

But, despite all that, and despite Kellie knowing of all my baggage, all my physical problems, knowing what I am like (ie, an arse), she still agreed to be my girlfriend.

And today, we've been together for four years. Aww.

Happy Anniversary, my Kellie. I love you lots.

Side-note: I should also add, that on this day four years ago, after sitting in the pub garden talking, I received a bastard of a sunburn on my face. So on this day four years ago, I not only gained a girlfriends, but also a sunburn!

Missing: Presumed Grumpy

I have, once again, been conspicuously quiet across the different social networks. For the most part, I have been quite busy, with the Easter Holidays now behind us (and the year whizzing by) it was hard to sit and bumble out blog posts with kids charging around.

Secondly, I am moody. I don't know why exactly but there is stuff on my mind that is pissing me off, I feel like shite and that is pissing me off, I have germs trying to come out and THAT is pissing me off... And when reading Twitter, or watching Facebook, more stuff pisses me off, to the point that I either close the window, or I rant and rave AT people.

So I close the window.

Even when I do chat in either place, I see something that I think "Ignore it, you're fine" but ten minutes later, I have to kill the window.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me, my usual sitting and stewing on things, worrying about other things, pissed off over other other things and so on - plus I seem to have a week or so that everything gets on top of me that I refer to as my PMS week. I really DO seem to have a time of the month...

Yes yes, I'm a woman...

Why don't I blog about my woes? Well, for starters I know that as soon as I do, people will start messaging me "Do you mean ME?" and asking if it's them I am referring to. Then other people will read what I have blogged, and either use it against me, or take it the wrong way and, well, use it against me. I just cannot be dealing with that amount of stress and drama I KNOW it will create. I'm not even going to say "If you think it may be you, it probably is" because that will just make people go at it more.

And this is why the blog has had less "Blah Blah Blah" on it, and more "Music and Random Images" than usual.

I had hoped the previous post would placate my rantiness for a bit, but it didn't. I'm tired, cranky, mood-swinging, in sodding pain and feeling generally icky - and there's nothing much I can do about it.

I'll survive, I'm sure. Hopefully everyone else will as well... I'm going to give it a few more days to slip out of my system, and failing that, I'm going to have to set up an anonymous blog just to scream and shout and rant and rave on.

Failing that... I may need to be taken out the back... Old Yeller style.

2011 Wrap Up

You may be wondering why there is a pair of underwear beside this post. That's a good question. I wanted something original to sum up the year as best I could, but every time I cast my mind back over the year, despite it being - all things considered - a good year, all I can think about is how MUCH pain I've been in, and how LITTLE I've slept.

Therefore, the image for the summing up of 2011 describes it perfectly.

Pants. For sleeping and pain, 2011 was pants. Big saggy ones.  Month-by-month, it wasn't a bad year, but I was hoping to end on a high-note with new meds to make me feel a little more human, a little more alive, and little more with it.

Never mind

2011 summed up month-by-month is not something I've done before. I may have summed up the year with and "End of Year" style posting before, but not for a long time. I also refuse to link to the posts of which I am referring to - while I do it in some posts when the information in a previous post is neccesary, to make you click back through a YEAR of posts is just plain silly, and smacks of someone trying to increase hits on different posts.

If you're THAT interested, I am fairly sure you can use the Archive function.

As mentioned before, the years themes for me have been pain and insomnia. Looking back over my posts, I can see clearly that the last 6-8 months have seen my pain levels increase. I feel crap, and obviously, I am worse than I was. I'll be asking for a referral to the Pain Management Clinic later on methinks. The insomnia may or may not be linked to the pain, so I'm not too worried about that at the moment.

Kellies "Themes for the Year" are twofold. Firstly, we're still not sure what's wrong with her. Her triglycerides have spiked upwards again - normal is 2-4, high is 4-6, hers originally spiked to 20.8, but after medication, started coming back down to 6s and 7s, but have spiked up again, so that's still broken and making her chest all fluttery still.

Kellies other theme has been saying things that entertain me and, by association, the rest of the world. The number of "The Things She Says" posts have increased this year too.

January
The anniversary of Kellie being moved in for a month, the main theme for January was "Shit, where do we put all this stuff?!". This is also the month that Kellie spent recovering from Swine Flu, the month the Gimmie Gizmo pulled the rug out from under the feet of their staff and things went downhill from there. In addition to this, Molly started at her new school (which she still resides and still loves every minute of it!), and I did something silly/bad to my ribs chasing children on a climbing frame.  "Cracked" was the word the doctor used to describe them...  It's also the month that my beloved laptop died, and was resurrected, and the first proper month with our fantabulous new phones!

February
Aside from a few odds and sods type posts, most of February was taken up with the birth of my nephew, Toby, who was born poorly but has come on in leaps and bounds. Despite not being particularly chunky, I refer to him as Tubby Toby. Poor little man.

March 
Nothing too interesting happened in March. Kellie bought me the WoW Expansion, Cataclysm, so my Warcraft genes were soothed. We partied a bit with friends in Chicago Rock Cafe, I discovered what the constant music in my head is called, I ingested and burped kippers, Kellies medical stuff almost turned nasty, and I ranted about the music industry and bed bolts.

April
Boring month, aside from Kellies birthday... I switched to the new style of Blogger (which I loved and still love) and we discovered that, officially, the 0dd Mother In Law is a crazy freak for ironing her pillowcases...

May
Officially, May was a shit month - probably the shittiest for me. After fighting hard and long, my friend and companion Sally-Dog was deemed too ill and had to be put to sleep. The vets that had been dealing with her clearly fucked something up. Otherwise, I was ill at one stage in May, was confused with a woman on the telephone several times, and pushed the idea of Digital Darwinism in order to get idiots off the internet. Probably the BIGGEST news of May was that the world didn't end in Fire and Brimstone. Well done Harold Camping for A) Messing up your dates, and B) Getting a metric Shit Ton of cash off idiots.

June
Another birth this month, with Kerry popping out hers and James' son Albert! Hurrah! Also the month that Tamsyn broke her arm and Molly performed the feat of shocking the medical community by contracting Shingles. I also had one of my record-breaking shitty days filled with idiots, I ranted about Gamers becoming murderers, and decided to start a diet.

July
APPARENTLY I blogged nothing in July. NOTHING!

August
Another crappy one. Firstly, Our pussy cat Arwen was hit by a car and killed. Being that she wasn't born with common sense, and was more used to quiet backroads where cars stopped for her, she had zero road-sense, and, well, that was that. It's also the month that my former Domain Name Host decided I was the enemy and threatened to shut me down unless I censored myself thanks to Gimme Gizmo staff being threatened by my words and not liking the fact personal opinions were scaring customers away. In other news, Gimli & Galadriel joined the household - two idiot kittens that still trash the place, Kellies temporary job became permanent, and we all went out for a night of Bingo that resulted in us winning nothing but a shitty DVD player, and everyone being covered in green ink.

September
My birthday was marked this year with a post about my late grandfather, but also the month Jaysen blinded me with a thorny seed pod to my eye. You may remember the eye patch, eye dye, and gory posts about having shit scraped from my eyeball. It's also the month Kellie royally fucked the skin on her hands by playing with epoxy resin, I started on a long winding journey towards getting some form of employment, that lumps of satellite were due to fall on our heads, and we ended the month, sitting in a field in pissing rain, watching Avatar...

October
The most interesting post of October has to be Kellie confusing Kangaroo with Moose in Canada, but also the month I called it quits on the paper round (and explained how you need to APPREICATE your paper delivery expert), and the month I was confused for a murdering rapist by a complete stranger. It's also the month I snapped and posted a long winded whine-fest of a post detailing all the little shitty things that annoyed me at the time and, most importantly, we discovered James' "Movie Choice Gene" is not only flawed, but completely missing after we listened to him and watch a movie he suggested.  His body has yet to be found. Oh, and once again, the world failed to end, after Harold Camping fucked up again.

November
The pain running around my body pushed me hard in November, and I tried to write a post detailing how it felt and made me feel, but I still don't know if I got my point across successfully. For the second time in my life, I was referred to as being a Misogynist for some reason - again by someone without the first clue as to who I am - so that pissed me off. I had a rant about people expecting privacy despite plastering their personal information all over the web, not to mention it being the month that I, a 35 year old man, fell off my bike and injured myself. Oh, and I proved I was psychic. Lastly, this was the month I sent four Northerners to their deaths on account of If I Don't Someone Else Will for being so completely thick and believing everything they see on the TV.

December
Aside from the Xmas stuff that goes on, December was the month Kellie decided we were painting the living room (and me), the month I decided my ISP is horrendously SHIT, I contracted proper ManFlu - which is still lingering, it has to be said - and I discovered that if I get an office job, I need to stay AWAY from the laminating machine, as clearly the Race of Lamina has declared war on yours truly.


So there you have it. All in all, nothing AMAZING to report, some shit stuff, some funny stuff, some strange stuff, a mix of crazy people and strange places, weird happenings and, well, random stuff striking from the heavens to be honest. There was no lottery win, but then I didn't managed to accidentally kill myself either, so that must be a win too.

My predictions for the year? The Mayans reckon the world ends on 21st December, so Christmas will be easy this year. I reckon I will make it to 36 if I behave, that Kellie will call me nasty names for posting her mutterings on here, and that the kids will be homeless unless they buck up their ideas. Everything else is a mystery to my fore-sight...

Bodily Functions

The human body is an amazing thing.  Especially mine - at least, especially mine when you think it's still running after the years of being broken when I was a kid.

But, in general, the things it can do always fascinate me.  People climbing Everest, able to hold their breath and dive so deeply, let alone those that go through what the papers always call a "Horror Smash!" yet walk away from it.

However, at other times, the human body reeeeally has to make you wonder.  For instance, when you have company and you try to cough - and end up farting in front of everyone.  When you walk up or down stairs and your brain tells you there's an extra stair and you stumble.

Now - still on subject I should add - I have to say I have a cast iron bladder and concrete bowels.  I can hold pee for hours at a time, and not even realise I need to go.  I can go days without sitting on the loo causing an environmental disaster.

So, yesterday lunchtime, the fitter announces "If you need to go to the toilet, go now, as I'm taking the old one out"  Me being me, and feeling fine, answers with "It's all good, don't worry"

You can see where this is going can't you.

About thirty minutes later, I was busting for a pee.  Full on, need to go.  But, lucky for me an my cast iron bladder, I held it and held.  On top of that, having strangers in the house makes me really not want to use the loo.  Yes yes, I know...  Over the course of the next couple of hours, I managed to ignore it as best I could, then my bum said "You know what, I think I need to go too"

Oh my heck.

So, as he's having a few problems and it got really late, he finished and gave me a lift to the bus stop.  The bus journey was... Bumpy.  The from the bus stop to Kellies I walked as fast as I could, got in, said Hi to her and disappeared upstairs.

And all was good in the world.  Unless you're at sea, in which case, I apologise.

So being that they're STILL not done, I came back again this morning, left Kellies at the butt-crack of dawn, and almost made it to the bus stop when my body tapped me on the shoulder and said "I need a wee"

And my backside said "I need to go too"

Marvellous.

So, the bus journey back was bumpy again, and stop-start-stop-start due to stupid traffic from stupid people not able to let their stupid kids walk to school.  Jumped off the bus and sort of flew home.  Of course, the toilet is still not connected to running water.  It has a waste outlet, but no running water.

I kicked my door in, dropped my bag, ran into the kitchen and filled up two buckets.  Yes, running water.  Excellent fun.  Then I had to lug them upstairs, and put water in the pan.

It also occurred to me for a heartbeat, that there is no seat on the toilet yet.  I didn't care.

And now I feel much better.  I'm just glad there were no workmen here by the time I got in otherwise I'd be sitting here fidgeting ;)

So there you have it.  Mankind can scale Everest, dive to the depths of the Oceans - but if you take away their toilet, they lose the ability to control themselves!

Hiding Out

While Monday was "ok" here - as you could prolly tell from the blog being busy - I was keeping busy for my own reasons. That reason was mostly Tuesday.

Tuesday was Jo's birthday, and my head was all over the place. Now, most people couldn't understand why my head was in such a mess, but it wasn't just that it was her birthday, it was also the fact that it was the anniversary of the day I proposed to her many years ago.

It hurt to think that I'd gone from being happily engaged, to being a single parent. It was just another of those "dates" that stuck in my head.

On top of this, I didn't know what - if anything - I should have done. Should I have gotten a gift, a card? As it was, I didn't do either - I wished her happy birthday by text, and it killed me to do so. Jo's parents got the kids stuff to give her from them, and I remained hiding out.

As you know, I was out Friday night. I was out Saturday daytime too. Then I spent all day Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday hiding out with Ruth. She's been looking after me, cooking my dinner and generally letting me rant and mope as much as I needed. I've helped her with her shopping, I've done a bit of babysitting for her (yesterday for 90 mins, today for a few hours) so she can sort various stuff out...

But, for the most part, I've been at hers almost the whole week.

I think today is the longest I've been here since Friday. And on the plus side, the two terrors are home today as well. Jo is out over the weekend, so I've got them for a couple of extra days, and thankfully (finally!) Jaysen is back at school on Monday. Part of me thinks this break has whizzed by, and the other part thinks "OMG come ON!"

So, hopefully with my head being back on track (again... again...) I will be a little more productive. The house is tidy which is something, but there's still lots needing doing. I've gone from being busy has hell to bored out of my skull.

Lemmie find that happy medium, and I will be sorted!

On top of being out, being busy/bored, I've been suffering from Insomnia from Hell. I'm talking "Bed At Midnight" and being awake till the wee small hours. My brain needs a mute button. Or just an off switch.

And having spent a couple of days off the meds, I'm zapping like a bitch too!

Aversion to Crowds

It may come as a surprise to you that this author is not a people person. Crowds of people, meeting new people, even asking a stranger for directions to ordering food from a restaurant - all of these things give me reason to get nervous.

I don't do well at parties, I don't do well at social events, and if there's not someone there I can cling desperately chat with, then I can find a reason for not going. Hell, even if there is someone I know there, I try to find a way out of it.

And public speaking - well, don't even get me started on that kettle of fish.

Chatting my text or email has never been an issue for me - I can message someone out of the blue and go from there. Commenting on new blogs, likewise, I can handle, and replying to people commenting on mine isn't a problem.

However, I've noticed that when a blog I read gets busy or popular, I tend to stop commenting. And I don't know why. Everyone loves comments, but if I see someone already has a dozen or more, then I won't add my two pence unless the subject at hand is really something I have to add to.

And I'm not sure why I'm like it either, but I think it's more to do with my crowd/people aversion than anything else. But if you wonder why I am not amid your myriad of comments, you know why ;)

Yes, I am weird.

The Dumps

Despite the recent few posts, I'm actually been a bit down in the dumps over the last few days. I'm fairly sure it's more to do with it being A) Winter, and B) Me being bone tired, but none the less, I've been trying to keep my mind as occupied as possible.

Mostly playing WoW and pissing around on here.

I can't even say what started it, but I've been missing Bethy, and everything reminds me of her. Today at school Jaysen ran off across the field towards his class. That's it. And I had to be careful not to cry in front of the gaggle of mums saying farewell to their little sprogs. I don't know what it was - he looked small, defenceless, and just needing me.

To add to this, the infants playground was teeming with little kids running around with teddies and bunnies and what-not, all with a bandage on of some kind. The stuffed toys, not the kids. Of course, it was all in aid of Children in Need, but when Bethy was in hospital, we put a bandage and cannula on her favourite toy.

In general, I am OK, and like I say, I am fairly sure it's because it's just been a long-ass week and I am honestly that tired. I was in bed this afternoon sleeping. I was in bed last night at half eight, and now at half eight once again I am exhausted. We have people travelling down the country to see us this weekend, and while I am looking forward to seeing them, I am dreading it at the same time.

Ugh, you can ignore this whiney bitch post. I've even disabled comments for it.

Pain

Today, I will be mostly suffering and hurting. The last week of being busy has caught up with me - well, it caught up with me last night in bed. But regardless, I am in fricking agony today. Added to this, somehow I have forgotten to take The Meds for the last two days, so not only am I twitching and zapping, but I'm trying to keep my mind occupied and OUT of the hospital.

Anyway, I've managed to get almost dressed. I managed a washing load. I managed to plug my laptop in on this side of the room.

And that's it.

So, no doubt you can expect mucho-spammage from me today. And no webcam - it'll either point at unkempt Dan, or Cartoon Network!

When it Rains...

Things have been fairly quiet here today. Jaysen was up till gone midnight crying, plus Jo had a very restless night, which means late night for me filled with unrest. I decided to keep him off school, and the woman in the office when I called was completely understanding. He's a little happier today, we've let him kick around in what ever clothes he's wanted, and pretty much had a kick-back day.

Jo went to her parents at around lunchtime and they spent the afternoon talking about Nan, how stubbon she was, how many great things she did. She was 93 - that's two world wars, three monarchs and over twenty Prime Ministers. Jo has a couple of bits of her jewellery, things she remembers nan when when Jo was ickle, and aside from some tears, this afternoon was OK.

Plans are being made, and Nan - like her late husband - will be cremated. Of course, the crematorium is the same place that we had Bethy's funeral, so my stomach is tied in knots. Everyone is saying "You don't have to go", and I am seriously considering it. I went there for Bethy's funeral, then for Jo's other nan, but couldn't go to my grandfathers because of where it is, and it's looking like I might not be able to force myself to this one.

I hate it.

And of course, this wouldn't be the 0ddness Household if things didn't keep hitting the fan for us. About half an hour ago, the heavens opened as a massive storm landed directly overhead. Not a bad thing in itself - just some rushing around to close windows...

This picture doesn't really do it justice, but you can make out the sheets of rain if you look, or check the surface of next-doors pond:




However, five minutes into the rain storm, there came a strange sound from the middle-landing, followed by the sound of running water. On goes the light, to see this:


Bear in mind, there is another floor ABOVE this one, so the water has come in, fallen for a storey, then pushed out a piece of ceiling to pour filthy water and plaster all over the stairs. Marvellous. I've called the housing people, left a message - but they decide if it's an emergency or not and phone back if it is.

Seriously, I know it's just a leak somewhere and what not, but when the hell will we get a break? Just a few minutes is all I ask. Nothing to worry about, nothing stressing or depressing us.

*sigh*

Veg Out Day

Today, for the first time since... er... well, the first time that I can remember in a while, I've had to do precisely nothing all day long. For reasons only known to my body, I was up at six this morning, where I proceeded to shower, leave my hair down, dried, dressed, and plonked at the computer.

I have been playing WoW virtually ALL day which is nice - chatting to friends, having a bit of a laugh, and generally having my feet up and not having to worry about anything. One of our neighbours, Cel, has a brother staying with her, and he's a WoW addict too, so he's here next to me playing on Jo's computer, while she and Cel are at her house playing SingStar.

Now, granted, I am a bit freaked out by having to entertain a stranger, and am resisting the urge to throw up, but otherwise, he seems nice enough. All we've done is chat about what we do on the game, but that's enough for me. I'm shaking and nervous - talk about social anxiety.

And in about half an hour, me and him are heading back to Cels, where she is cooking us chinese. The thought of having to go out is also filling me with dread, but we have to do these things...

Aside from WoW, I've made some tea, bathed a dog, had a quick tidy up and done a couple of wash loads, but all in all, it's been a nice, lazy day.

Just Feeling Down

Some days I feel just "crappy". There's no way to explain how, or why, or what caused me to slip into a funk, but I just wake up feeling unhappy. Some days, I am fine, and so much back to "Normal Dan" it amazes me and those around me that thought he was long gone. And other days - just like yesterday - I wake up feeling good, bundle downstairs, check my email, and read something that shoots me down. I'm talking "duck blown out the sky with a cannon" shoots me down, not a little bit of engine smoke and a calm, casual landing.

Invariably, I hit the ground with a heavy thump and a splat, and there I stay for a while till I can scrape myself up again and move on, slowly getting better until I am fine again.

Despite being out all day yesterday, I was just trudging around looking at the stuff in the shops, apathetic to the options of this-versus-that, and generally unhelpful. We got home, got the boy from school, and spent the rest of the afternoon doing housework on autopilot, sorted dinner, then watched a couple of DVDs in bed.

Now today, I've woken up later than usual, and instead of running around sorting everything, I am thinking "Meh, if we're late we're late". I need to scrape myself up, need to get on with everything. I hate wallowing, and hate sounding like I want the world to sit me down and say "There there Dan" because that's NOT me. No doubt I will spend another day sulking in the corner, playing the bloody "What If..." game, looking at the decision I helped make and wonder if it was the right one. Then I will start reattaching my limbs and moving on.

I think it might be time for me to leave the CHD Lists out there that I am on.

When I Grow Up...

This year, I am 31. I will have been "off sick" for the last seven years. I've had jobs, but I've never had a career. I know there are people out there that think I've achieved nothing, but I disagree. I've got Jo, I've got the kids, I've got my friends. I know family members are disappointed that I've not done more with my life, but hey, it's not like I woke up one day and thought to myself "Hey, I know, I'll live the rest of my life as a slacker"

I'd love to work, I'd love to say in coversation "Me? Oh, you know, I'm an astronaut"

I was talking to Jo last night, and talking about what I'd like to do in the future. I often think about becoming an Infant teacher. I often think about working for the RSPCA as an inspector. I often think about taking a course like Photography or Journalism. I often think about becoming an Ambulance or Paramedic tech. I often think I'd like to pack everything up and move to another country - a fresh start, as they call it. We had the chance many years ago to up and move to Ireland, but for various reasons, that fell over.

Of course, there is all the fine-print. Could I jump back into work with my back and Chronic Fatigure? Could we just up and move to another country? Of course, most of my "skills" are in the computer-department, but mostly I am self-taught. Starting a "new" career would also mean going back to school in some form - college, university - to get all the "neccessary qualifications" but we're drowning in debt already, so could we afford to do it?

My biggest problem is change. I am a coward, and I need everything to be just so. Say we move to the States and it all goes pear-shaped. Then what? What if I train for months and years, only to have my back give out completely? As we are, we're "getting by" which isn't what I wanted for Jo and the Kids. What if my desire to change messes it all up?

As you can tell, it's not something I am going to decide to do over night. I don't even know why I am blogging about it. What I need is a fairy godmother or a genie to tell me what to do. That'd make it all easier! Or a lottery win.