Dinosore

The cool, refreshing breeze gently moved my messily-plaited hair, as I sat by the open window in the waiting room before I saw my pain psychologist. The lavender in the pretty garden just a few metres away provided a perfect view to gaze upon. The scent from the bobbing flowers found their way up my hayfeverishly stuffed-up nostrils. Bob Marley sang "I don't want to wait in vain" on the radio. It wasn't long before I was called in to my appointment on, somewhat amusingly, the first anniversary of my second laparoscopy.

I don't honestly feel that much has changed since that day. A positive aspect is that my periods seem to be more likely to start nearer to the 4 week mark than the 5 week mark. But even that is still not a certainty, so planning is, still, an awkward thing.

When I registered to take part in the 5k Big Fun Run in Crystal Palace, I didn't know if I would be well enough to attend, let alone travel for a couple of hours, walk the distance, then travel another couple of hours. Despite the roller-coaster excitement of not knowing whether I'll be ill from the effects of endometriosis-plagued periods, and having no choice but to let people down, I continue to believe that is still better - and healthier for the mind, or mine, at least - to plan to go out, see people, arrange to be a part of a brilliant fund-raising event like the aforementioned trek amid a dinosaur-fest.


But.


This time, like countless others, I won't be there, at the intended destination. I know when that Saturday comes along, that I shall either be heavily medicated and in a lot of pain, while fatigue renders me immovable without assistance, OR I shall be just entering the recovery stage after that period has passed its worst phase.

Either way, I shall be at my worst time of the "month" and, even if I'm able to shuffle along and not use my walking stick, the energy and effort - or spoons - will be far too much for me to manage. I will make myself ill. I can't do that.

I promise you, if you've already sponsored me, I will walk that 5k distance; it won't be in London, but local to my home. I've yet to map out a route but I'm fairly sure I know where I want to go. And I have an idea of who to drag along with me. Although, they don't know it yet...

I'm still a long way off my target, and I'm quite concerned I'm not going to get there. If you would like to sponsor me to help Endometriosis UK, you will help me, and women like me all across the United Kingdom, people you don't even know exist, people you walk by every day. Endometriosis is closer than you might think.

I feel wretched about having to abstain from this event, as it would've been the third consecutive year I'd've gone to London to complete a 5k for Endometriosis UK. The distance, wherever I do it, will be painful for me. Walking, now, is never without a pain or ache or twinge of some kind at some point. I'm not complaining; rather, letting you know (if you hadn't already suffered me enough) that my pain is chronic in its varying forms. I am still exercising, as advised by my hospital pain management team but that only does so much. It can't cure the pains. Nothing can.

So, PLEASE, if you can help, please do! AND, if you buy any item from my lovely, shiny, new shop on Etsy - which is >>> HERE <<< - I'll donate that money to my fund-raising page, which is >>> HERE <<<

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Etsy Supplements Artist?

By law, I'm allowed to earn up to £95 per week while I'm paid ESA (Employment and Support Allowance) by the government. Ideally, I'd not claim anything from "The State" but, I am one of those human things with chronically life-altering health troubles, and I do have to live. And living does, for me, cost some money.

Lately, I've done what I feared I would not be able to do: I have done Art. What if I couldn't draw now? What if I couldn't mix paints or understand shape or form or interpretations or... It was all piffle.
I sketched some drawings on the paper I missed turning and feeling, with the graphite pencils I missed smudging and sharpening, and the sizing-up with my thumb like those Art types do on the telly. (It's an actual thing to do, y'know.) I made a card for a friend, and used my watercolour paints. I'd forgotten about all the things I'd need: jar, water, newspaper, paper towel, hardboard... I enjoyed it so much. When I started the initial sketching the day before the painting, I was thrown right back to the researching lark of something, finding images, reading about the subject, to understand what it was and how it would be done and more things and such.

I was quite pleased with the end result. Even if I hadn't been, I'm sure it's the act of having actually done the Art thing again which was the point. It was breaking down that imaginary wall which stopped me doing creative things earlier. Or was it my own doing? I suspect it was, indeed, me who stopped things progressing, partly because of that fear. But it's also not my "fault" so, I'm not angry with myself for halting or preventing the drawing happening, because it's all been for a reason mostly out of my control. That reason is, of course, endometriosis. And depression. Two reasons: endometriosis and depression. I'll come in, again...

(If you're not sure what endometriosis is, you can click THESE BIG LETTERS to find out more about it as well as my favourite charity, Endometriosis UK. It's for them that I am doing my third 5k walky thing in September, with details HERE, should you wish to be exceedingly generous and sponsor me for what WILL be another very painful, difficult but, ultimately, worthwhile event. Endometriosis UK has changed my life and made it better. Please help it carry on doing the same for countless other women and girls?)


So, now I've started the Art thing again, what can I actually do? I knew about Etsy a while ago, and didn't think I'd bother with it. Then I did. And I've just added some of my drawings and bird paintings from a few years ago, which you can see by clicking HERE.

I'd like to get more Jimi Hendrix prints done, to paint more birds (if I can hold them down long enough), to draw more dogs, cats, and horses. I miss doing what I essentially trained to do for about six years. Although, it was meant to be half that time, really but, once more, the unrelenting pain of a then-undiagnosed incurable disease and dark place of my depressed mind held me back. That desire to create something from bits and pieces, from materials, using various media has never left me. At times, though, there's not enough energy in my whole being to even attempt it. And that lack of anything is down to the conditions I have, as well as the myriad medications I have to take each day to live what might be termed a "decent life". Some days have been and are less than decent, being, as they are, utter shit. The days where not being around felt like a better option, or the days when the strongest of strong painkillers I am permitted to take will not release me from the grip of agony. They're the not-so-good days. Obviously. (I don't have suicidal thoughts these days, in case you wondered.)


Of course. I'm hoping you'll sponsor my 5k and, of course, I'm hoping equally as much that you'll buy something I've created but, if the only thing you're able to do is share this blog in some way, you will be helping me more than you know.




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Sod off, MURPHY.

The last thing I expected to happen with this post was for it to become the most read post on my entire blog. Ever. Of all time. Ever. It was all because I asked people on twitter to help me after it became clearer than the Crystal Maze that SOMEONE had taken my money by deception, when claiming to want to help me raise money for my Mission to Tell Cancer to Sod Off. Also known as #SodOffCancer on twitter...
I can not overstate how amazing people were on twitter that day, how kind their words were, how enraged they felt on my behalf for the gall and cruelty and heartlessness of what this person did. Each retweet was so gratefully seen by me, and I thank each person so very much, with very special specialness to @MargoJMilne, @fiatpanda, and @EssexPoliceUK for their super-speedy help and guidance over what I should do. The "should do" has become a "have done", and there's no more I can actively do, with regards to the reporting to and telling police what I know.


I wondered if I could retrieve any of the MSN Messenger conversations that person and I had had. I hoped so much I could find the info there. My hopes were enough, it seems, for here they are, on my laptop. The entire - THE ENTIRE - log of conversations. Here are some gems of his numerous claims:

"Tomorrow at the 'Casualty' set in Bristol and weekend - no idea yet" - after I asked him on 24th September 2009 if he would have a busy Friday.

"i have been given a pack of 10 first class return rail tickets for anywhere on the Virgin, National Express or East Midlands Trains rail network which you can have for your charity auctions, plus a load of stuff from Doctor Who, Torchwood, Casualty, Holby City and, thanks to Teignbridge District Council, a sponsorship message on a roundabout between Teignmouth and Newton Abbott", "my other half has just said that he’ll throw in a free meal for a family at the Mount Pleasant Arms in Dawlish Warren and a £50 bar tab too (Dawlish Warren is in South Devon), and "Craig said that he’ll turn it into a weekend break at the hotel with breakfast and meals for a family of four" - after I asked him for news about the box of stuff, on 3rd October 2009.


And look! Here are the snapshots from the facebook messages stating much the same:

On 11th November 2009, he informed me "i work for ofcom so can do it internally" when talking about Doctor Who when he thought Martha had said the word "fuck". "OFCOM Telephone Rule 3.2 Ss8" apparently. And, how exciting! The next day he would be up early. But why? This: "get the pre-records ready for GMTV tomorrow morning - it's coming from Manchester for the first time (although they won't mention that on screen!) ... just getting the set up, studio ready and some early morming incerts ... and gotta do the edits for it too ... shame we don't have credits: Executive Producer STEVEN MURPHY for TX MEDIA LTD and GMTV STUDIOS".

If you have a spare skip nearby, you might want to fill that with salt.


He'd been to the National Television Awards and blamed the Loose Women for being drunk.
He'd won a Mac from GMTV.
He was an executive producer for something or other and had a very important clipboard to make sure the programme complies with guidelines.
He was in hospital for a while and couldn't reply to me, being later diagnosed with Wolfe-Parkinson-White Syndrome, a heart condition.


Let's jump forward to 22nd April 2010 when I asked if the box will arrive any time soon, which prompted him to say "oh your big box of stuff will be with you on MONDAY - am posting it on Saturday before I go on my hols".


No.


How about 10th September 2010? "i'll get it sorted for you on monday - sorry sorry sorry".


Luck is not on his side, for this is what happened on 22nd November 2010: "hey - sorry it's Marc his hubby - just checking his email - he's in hospital ... no he fell down the stairs at work and done his leg in".


Dear oh dear oh dear OH DEAR. And that was it. That was the last I heard or read from "Steven" or "Marc" or "Craig" or whoever the fuck Matthew Attenborough pretended to be.


It's been a long time since I listed the things I have been given and sent by lovely people, and the reason is, as ever, my own quite shitty health. My days aren't easy and they're not spent lazing about. When I feel OK, i do what I can. From my asking by writing begging letters for a signed card or some, I've pleaded and beggeded and have been sent signed postcards and photos by SO many (mainly Doctor Who and Harry Potter) people (or their people), including Hugh Bonneville, Karen Gillan, Matt Smith, Maggie Smith, June Whitfield, Bernard Cribbins, Tracy-Ann Oberman, Matilda Ziegler, Julia Sawalha, Michael Palin, Camille Coduri, Jessica Hynes, Sinead loads from Eastenders people, loads from Coronation Street people, and LOTS more people. I've been sent huge signed film posters, Doctor Who illustrations, signed books, signed records, signed CDs, and SO MUCH MORE.

A large chunk of the stuff has been given by those wonders @marshamusic and @shaunwkeaveny and I am SO thankful to them. I could squeeze them 'til the cows come home. And go away again. And come home again... as well as @LisaLynch, who gave me 2 of her books, which she'd signed, and they made LOTS of luvverly moolah for charity. Thank-you, Lisa!

I want to have two HUGE bundles each of Doctor Who and Harry Potter stuff - one for Macmillan Cancer Support, and the other for Cancer Research UK. Torchwood and The Sarah Jane Adventures things will probably be added to the Doctor Who stuff. Not sure yet.

I feel I must reiterate what I feel is one of the most important points of all this: I make absolutely no money from this. I don't want to. I started this because my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer, and still suffers now, over 3 years since the horrible times began. All I ever wanted to do was get things, sell them on eBay 100% for the charities I chose, and know that those charities have benefitted.


In another blatant begging instance, if YOU have things you'd like to donate to my cause, if you want to help Tell Cancer TO SOD OFF, you can leave a comment on here, or email sodoffcancer@live.co.uk, or tweet me @TheCurlyLucy. It can take a long time for me to get round to doing things, but I get to them in the end. This is why things get bad, sometimes.



SOD OFF, CANCER.



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Help Lucy help charity

Naivety isn't something any of us likes to admit to but I was when I started this fundraising lark. I had people sending me things, signed books, records, photos, CDs, posters. And there was someone who seemed so very helpful and eager to help. "Hooray!" I thought. Aren't people nice?

Yes, they are. They can also be turds who take money "for postage costs" with a promise of sending stuff from the BBC and ITV studios and signed cards and T-shirts for me to list on my eBay page to sell 100% for charity. If you're not aware of why I do this, I shall tell you: in 2009, my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. She's still having treatment and is still having a really bloody hard time.

I never sell my charity things to profit for myself, I never take any of the money. Every charity listing is 100% for that charity. The three I concentrate on are Macmillan Cancer Support,, Cancer Research UK, and Breast Cancer Care.

A man called Steven Murphy started talking to me on twitter, and, as the months went by, and we talked more, we talked on the phone. More months went by and trust was built, and (though I can curse myself endlessly now) I transferred £15 to his bank account to cover the amount it would cost as there was a lot and it was heavy. After being told he would then send the box of things, I waited. And I waited. And he was "ill". And I waited. And many obstacles occurred.

He used to use twitter.com/tgmedia, but THAT IS NOT HIM NOW. It used to be Trafalgar Media.
He also seems to have used twitter.com/tvguidelive and twitter.com/txmediauk.
On the TwitPic site, he's here: Steven Murphy.
The website he said was his lived at TG:media, among other places.

If you wanted to search, I'm sure you find all this and more. While trying to find out more, I found this: a non-too complimentary view from others about much the same thing. He now says he's a POLICE OFFICER. In Cornwall.


Somewhat naturally, I am so annoyed with myself for transferring the money to his bank account from mine, and I still have his details, from that time, at least. Retrospect is a great thing, but it only ever comes along after an event. Obviously.

Without wanting to sound all politiciany, please let me explain that I absolutely do not want people to give me their money. I don't want anything other than him to give me back my money, an apology for lying, disappearing, and countless other words I can't think of right now. He is still on my facebook friends list - back after a vanishing for a few months - and there has not been ANY reply or contact of ANY kind for over a year. Possibly more. I don't now believe there ever was a box of things. Obvious now, isn't it?


If anyone can help or has advice or knows what I can do (please bear in mind I'm not wealthy, nor am I particularly well, nor do I want terrible things to happen to this person), please help me? I want what is right to happen to happen. I WANT MY MONEY BACK.


All I ever wanted to do was sell stuff for those charities. I never wanted to profit for myself, not a single shiny or dull penny. Please. Please, can you help?


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Crystal amazement

When I stayed in London for a weekend to attend Lisa Lynch's Super Sweet 30th birthday party, it was a marker for an impressive "independence" achievement for me, despite that independence being fleeting, much as it is now, three years later. It was also the start of a slow-burning desire to exercise more and try to feel better about myself. The party was on a Saturday and, on the Sunday, I went to Hyde Park to watch a couple of friends partake in the adidas Women's 5k Challenge. The atmosphere was thrilling! I'd not known what to expect, and was wholly delighted to see thousands of women raising money for myriad charities, a rainbow sea of T-shirts.


The next year, 2010, I walked and slowly ran my first sporting event, and raised money for Endometriosis UK. I surpassed my original target by hundreds, and was so overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of people I'd never met, mostly via the wonder that is twitter.
The next year, which, coincidentally, was also last year (2011), would see me walk the same event, again raising money for Endometriosis UK.

Each event was also when I would meet friends I had, until those days, only "talked" to online, whether through facebook, twitter, or email, or by text or letters. Last year's 5k run [walk] was about 5 weeks after my second laparoscopy, which made it very hard for me to do any training, and walking the distance proved to be incredibly hard for me, with both legs, ankles and feet feeling as though they were burning after only 2 kilometres. But I carried on *FANFARE* and it was so lovely. People cheered all the way round no matter the charity they were supporting. I wore my Endometriosis UK T-shirt with such pride, and grinned and waved at those also supporting them. It's a wonderful, satisfying feeling being part of something like that; I only wish I'd been able to run, like I had planned.


Typically, the endometriosis pains and fatigue disrupted my plans. Additionally, I was having considerable problems with codeine in the 2 or 3 months prior to my laparoscopy; the withdrawal symptoms relating to the codeine I wasn't having to take were because of minimal pain, due to having the 4-weekly injections of Decapeptyl SR. The intermission in the pain calendar was extremely welcome, although the ills I felt from the lack of codeine in my system, having had quite a lot of the stuff every day for months, were far less welcome. They were not welcome. They were not invited to dinner but they stayed, anyway. A super-lovely GP and I worked out a tapering plan to ensure I suffered minimal symptoms while very slowly reducing the amount of codeine I took each day.


With the days sporadically becoming warmer and brighter, and with the knowledge that the adidas Women's 5k Challenge would not happen this year due to the Olympics, I wondered if I could again raise money for Endometriosis UK by taking part in a not-too-strenuous-but-equally-not-easy-in-any-way event type thing. And lo! It was here that I did discover that THIS EXCITING EVENT was happening! And so, dear readers, you lovely, generous, caring and kind readers, I have registered to complete the 5 kilometres Big Fun Run course in Crystal Palace Park on Saturday 8th September 2012.

CLICK ME NOW!

I've been slowly getting fitter, little by little, and I feel improved even walking round my house, up the familiar stairs, getting up from the sofa, and making tea. It might all seem like not much, but when there are so few moments with not pain, it's a HUGE change. The fitness classes at hospital have been fun, even though I've so far only attended half, with thanks going to unwellness caused by a period, a virus, and another sinus infection. I haven't wanted to miss those classes, but, as you may well know by now if you've read this blog before, when a period arrives, it's all about the period. The Duloxetine is still working well, the pains are less bad, and the periods are less bad, albeit still very significantly ouchy.


I want to do this 5k and I want to do it well. I want YOU LOT to help my beloved and wonderful and TINY Endometriosis UK continue to be funded, so that it may help those frightened, desperate and terribly-affected girls and women come to terms with this most cruel of conditions, to better live their lives, and to feel properly supported by people who truly understand what endometriosis means.

As with the previous events, this is not going to be easy for me to do. It may be less painful to walk, but it will hurt me. This truly, honestly is going to be a challenge for me. An early morning, several train journeys to get to Crystal Palace Park, the event itself, the walking and the trains back home, and the realisation of what I've done will all take their toll on my entire being, and I will be hurting and aching and tearful and overjoyed and wondering why the hell I put myself through all that pain. Again. And then I'll remember: because I'm helping people like me.


My sparkly, phenomenal, and really rather super new fundraising page is sitting just under these highlighted words and, if you should feel so inclined, you can help women and girls just like me, who have fearsome pain and dreadful days, so that they'll be sure people are there to help them get through those dark times. I promise your donations of supremely welcome moolah will do wonders for countless people. You can, indubitably, make an actual difference to actual people's lives. Including mine. And I'll be hurting after the 5k. So please, make it worth my while, if you can? Please? CLICK ME NOW!



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The Guest Blog Post

Knowing how it feels to be unwell a lot of the time, or at least not great, is really quite rubbish. If you know someone who experiences similar or the same feelings, it's good. But still rubbish, because you know they suffer, too. When a friend (and my former home tutor) introduced me - by way of those postal letter things - to a girl call Lynsey (who she also tutored at home), none of us would know how important that meeting would come to be in our lives. The friendship that evolved would become one of the most special in my life, and continues to be so.

Lynsey is my first EVAH guest blogger *erupts in applause and throws someone's pants on stage in celebration* and here, she tells you a little of her life, my life, and our lovely and very solid friendship.


When Lucy first asked if I would be her first guest blogger I was completely chuffed and then mildly scared; Lu has a lot of followers and is a stickler for grammar and spelling – I'm not very good at these but my followers generally don't seem to mind my grammatical faults. But I know Lu loves me as much as I do her so she'll forgive my down falls.

That's the thing about true friendships; they're tested by annoying habits as much as they are by big life events, but sometimes these life changing times are those that bring you the best friendships.

I met Lucy via our home tutor 13 years ago, we were awkward teens, Lucy would be quiet in her shyness; I on the other hand wouldn't shut up. Who'd have known that these polar opposite personalities would become such firm buddies and still have a strong bond even if we don't see each other for months on end. Our friendship is almost a two fingered salute at Endometriosis and RSD/CRPS, they may bring us down, but the pain brings us friends who build us back up again.

So many of my friendships have bore the same beginning, I've met some the best people I know from support groups, hospital stays and even my medical team have continued to be in my life way after treatment. Despite all the pain I may go through, as does Lucy and many of you – her readers, there is a silver lining to it all.

Unfortunately with everything there is a flip side to this said silver lining, a black cloud that descends over a friendship. Even without illness, you must have all experienced - that friend - the one who doesn’t want to be there when times get tough, the one who can't understand why you just don't get over yourself and move on. These are known as toxic people in my book, because to be a true friend you must take the good and the bad, even if that bad takes weeks, months, years or is a condition or illness that lasts a life time.

I'll put my hands up, sometimes my issues/illness/family problems have taken president over my friendships; but those who know me, recognize it's never out of malice or spite, it's the simple fact my concentration is directed another way for the time being.

I'm often asked would I take away my disability; it's a hard one to answer; I'd like to be rid of the pain but then that same pain as made me who I am today and I'm quite happy with that; would I have changed the experiences, the life lessons or the friends I’ve made – the answer would simply be – "Ah, Hell no!!



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Spooning

I often write very short lists of what I want to try to get done that current day or the next. I don't always do everything on the lists, but I remain firm in my belief that it's better to have those tasks on lists than not bother trying to do anything, or to have any aims, no matter how small they may be. Today's list: Ironing; 30mins Gym ball and/or Theraband; Bird food. The picture on the left is the ACTUAL list I wrote for myself on Sunday night. That's my writing, that is. Yeah. It features three tasks for me to attempt to complete. I woke at a good time, i.e. before 9 o'clock (in the morning), and, although I had some heavy pains, felt good "in myself", for want of a much better phrase.

When I came downstairs this morning, I was ready to fulfill at least one thing on the list. The exercise! After the mostly horrible-because-of-a-period week, today has been mostly pain-free, not least because of the dihydrocodeine. Usually after taking two of those tablets, I laugh in what can really only be described as a thoroughly stupid giggly and drunken manner. And the pain stops. Most of the time. This morning, I took them, drank my lovely sugarless Assam tea, plonked my heavy legs (and feet) upstairs, and pulled on my old clothes for decorating after deciding to help my hero Dad strip the wallpaper in the kitchen. (Incidentally, the jeans I wore were a size 12 and, for years, were quite baggy. Today, I struggled to do them up as my bum has grown out of size 10 jeans. Or stretches them to their limits, at least. I laughed and cheered loudly. On my own. I really did. They were tight as HELLFIRE is HOT. So, another point to Duloxetine for the weight gain. HOO. RAH.)

When we moved to this house (twenty years ago this year), we couldn't possibly have thought that only now we'd be having the kitchen WE have chosen, or, more specifically, the kitchen Mum and Dad have chosen. I know I'm not alone in being a person full of endless and passionate praise for their parents, for thinking them magnificent, so caring, generous, loving, and, frankly, really fucking amazing. For all these years of exceptional hardship, whether because of lack of money, bad health of one or more of us at any time, grief from losing a member of our family, my troubles at school - my Mum AND Dad have never, ever let me down. They have always been there, no matter what's happening. Again, that's not unique to me or my family, but it remains a brilliant thing, so I celebrate it whenever I can with hugs and tea and more hugs and more tea. I know: adventure even Bear Grylls can not imagine.

This house was built in the mid-1960s. There were BROWN tiles ALL OVER the walls, with randomly placed line "drawing" tiles variously featuring *cue Tony Hart's gallery music* an iron-shaped cheese dish, some kind of mill thing with a draw, and a partly-melted candle. *End of music* Brown. Brown brown brown. Cupboards, worktop, floor, walls. The cupboards had been removed the Sunday night before by my Dad and brother, revealing green woodchip wallpaper. Not just one green. No, no. THREE greens. THREE. GREEN. WOODCHIP.


Think about those words, dear Feasible reader. To temporarily adopt Jimmy Cricket's catchphrase, there's more. Whoever "decorated" the kitchen to its now-dead "style", whether the same person or different people, used a total of FOUR wallpapers in one very small area behind one of the cupboards. Two florals, with one featuring a geometric hell. And two colours of paint on to blown plaster. One of them was a green, you'll be flabbergasted to know.



The ceiling, where not painted its most recent shade of bright white, is a rather fetching [retching] brown, but more the kind achieved with years of fatty cooking and smoking. Nice.
This was all here before we moved in, and before the people who lived here before us, too which dates the decor to pre-1985. Ish. The standard of workmanship in this house, from wallpapering to plastering, from 49° mitred angle doorframes to the asbestos elbow-destroyer on the walls, is shocking. It's awful. Really. So bad.


That's one of the reasons I wanted to help my Dad with stripping the wallpaper. He's not in the best of health, either, with arthritis ruining his hip and back. It should have been fairly easy to remove the very offensive wall attire. It wasn't. There were TWO layers of green woodchip paper! Different greens. And ANOTHER layer of woodchip. It was YELLOW! I lost count of the times we had to soak and score the paper...s...



It took about four hours to remove a very small area of paper but remove it we did, and we had our respective aches and twinges and stiff backs and heavy legs. And it was all worth it. I finally said hello to the bathroom in the middle of the afternoon. I turned on the radio in there to hear the Edward Elgar's "Pomp and Circumstance Marches" and I grinned and bopped and grinned some more as the magic of what seemed like every instrument ever devised and created combined in the most perfect of ways to produce glorious majesty in music form.


What surprised me about me really very ambitious efforts considering I'd only just eaten the dihydrocodeine, is that I felt awake and eager and not spaced out in the least! Having said that, however, I do now feel... not broken, as I did on Saturday after the Friday night out before it, but... perhaps slightly cracked. My back feels stiff, my legs are aching, my shoulders, elbows and wrists feel as though all the nerves have been pinched, and my nose is snotting more than I've known for years. Lovely. But, like I said in the last post, these pains are good to feel because they're the result of something I have done, because I chose to, because I felt I could. It's not the endometriosis pain stopping me from doing things. I've not fed the birds, nor have I ironed any clothes, and nor have I done any exercise. Although, I did climb on the worktops, and stretch to soak and scrape the paper off the walls, and twist, and turn, and I think that might be all right for "exercise", such as it is.


I would like to have done more today, I would like to have done at least one thing on my list, but I haven't. I just didn't have enough spoons. Previously, I may well have felt guilty about that. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I would have felt guilty! But, tonight, I don't. I put a lot of effort in to helping make the kitchen another step closer to being ready for its new face. And I'm pleased with that. Dad would have taken a lot longer to do it all without my help, he'd be in more pain than he is already, and he'd be even more tired than he is now. That's more than enough for me to be pleased with, especially as I woke up in quite a lot of pelvic pain, which needed painkillers to stop it getting my day off to a bad start. But I think my new way of thinking was a large part of that happening. I don't take enough credit for my achievements, be it the money raised from my 100%-for-charity eBay auctions, the improved way I look at life, or the help I give friends when they need me. I just don't want to disappear up my ever-growing arse is all, I suppose.


Tonight was about relaxing with tea, a hot water bottle, friends on the texts, and more tea. And food. Wherever it is now. In that box, probably. No, not that one; that's the Tupperware. This could take a while...


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