PTSD

 I couldn’t make college today but still had to get my podcast assignment turned in to turnitin to be marked. The podcast outlining best practice of the disorder PTSD was a ten minute snap shot recording which sounds simple enough to complete unless you have a wracking cough , flu and two kittens determined to get in on the action.

My fifth attempt had me swearing for fucks’  sake!!! at the eight minute mark as the twins yowled loudly  under the kitchen door. My sixth was aborted after some Typhoid Mary coughing and several more for fucks sake ! Yells.

I swear I was in tears by attempt twelve. 

I almost got dressed and went around to sailor John next door, to see if he would present the whole thing for me , but I pushed through, had a lemsip and thought What would Angela Rippon do in this situation?

Big breaths and carry on!

I nailed it on my 17th attempt save for several muffled coughs and one contained fart .

My recent academic poster earned me an A which I was tickled pink about, let’s see how this goes

A Man Eaten By His Cats

 I’ve just got up

Just before 8pm I realised that I’ve been in bed for 24 hours.

Ewan ( Trendy Carol’s hubby) kindly collected the dogs this morning so I could fester in my own Petrie dish of a bed all day. 

I’ve not moved except to feed the twins and to urinate 

And that was a trial 

I’m shivery so downed paracemol and was grateful to have some chicken soup left by Mrs Trellis in a vintage thermos ( the one with the cork stopper) to drink. I’ve forced myself to light the fire, and am wrapped in my duvet on the couch. 

Confused by it, Roger gave it a quick wee on the corner

I haven’t bothered wiping it yet

Being single and unwell is a ball ache

When I was in my late 30s and alone in my Hillsborough house I suffered a late bout of Chicken pox which floored me. 

It was the only time I honestly thought I was dying , and I remember then thinking my cats Betty and Joan would be happy eating my corpse after my demise.

I was effectively single then, 

My partner at the time was an arse.

Today Weaver watched me carefully from her corner of the bed. 

It was afternoon

I presumed it was Weaver as she refused to approach me , and sat there stoically with narrow eyes

“ fuck off” I moaned at her “ You’re only waiting for me to die” 

I’m sure she was smiling

The fire has gone out because I’ve not tended it

We are all off to bed again

Sunday

 It’s four pm and I’m not going into work

I’ve finally succumbed to that nasty virus which is doing the rounds,and have retired to bed with four organic hot water bottles. 

Two kittens on one side, two Welsh on the other.

My body is checkpoint Charlie, with Weaver darting occasionally over the border in order to smack an odd ear or wagging tail.

Best laid plans ! 

I’ve eaten some fruit that’s all 

It’s now not long after seven and I’ve just got up to walk the dogs, albeit briefly . 

I’ve showered in a hot shower ( with Mary who needed a bath) .the Welsh adore hot showers btw

And I’ve put beans and spiced sausage in the slow cooker to make soup and I’m going back to bed dressed in long johns and several walking dead t shirts 

This flu virus is vicious

Nothing Day

 I’m going to quiet on Going Gently for a few days

I will be on night shifts some extra to cover staff absences.

The extra money will be useful . 

It’s minus 2 here today and I’m going back to bed soon as a sleep before night shifts is the only way I make it through nowadays.

The Welsh love this siesta time and climb under the duvet with enthusiasm 

It’s antisocial though and for the next five days I’m not going to see a soul save for people at work

I hate that

I had brunch at sainsburys  

And lit the fire when I got home 

Counselling

 

I’m back counselling today. 

It was icy and road conditions were difficult, but I got to MIND early, had a zoom meeting with my supervisor then saw clients until three.

My head was full, so I dropped into the one and only Starbucks ( something I never do ) for a coffee, ham something and a self debrief.

The coffee house was filled by women and girls on laptops.

I sat and made mental notes about my clients, that way you leave the emotions they share with you at the door. Having Said this there is always the moment you can pick those emotions up and that’s a real no no Human , but a no no. 

If you have a headache after facilitating therapy, you need to roll the emotions out away from yourself 

The coffee and ham sandwich helped.

So did the self debrief.

An open window left screamingly open in the icy air clears the head too.

I bought coffee logs from Lidl and cheap scented candles from the reduced price shelf beforehand but the bustle didn’t help my reboot , so Starbucks here’s to you, no blaring music, quiet corners to hide away in

Few screaming kids

I watched the Baristas and thought about the fires in California 

A sequence where some homeowners were leading their horses to safety amid a flurry of sparks only to be “interviewed” by an over zealous insensitive reporter came to mind

It’s a mad world

Having said this, this reported showed much welcomed humanity when coming across a young man fleeing his burning house with hardly anything…..

Roger Brings Them Home

 It is a terribly icy last night.

After a rather lacklustre Archers episode, I marshalled the Welsh and took them out of the living room front door for a wee walk. 

I thought I had shut the door behind us

The lane was dangerously icy, and in the dark we had to shelter in Trendy Carol’s drive to let some farm traffic to roar through. The dogs weed on patches of snow by the sheep gate on tip toe and as I waited, Roger barked at something towards the cottage, something in the dark as the lane light was still out of order. 

Tottering into view came the twins. 

Wide eyed and panicked on their first venture outside

I hurried back, fearful of more traffic, and let Roger pull forward 

He dropped his head and Bun quickly rubbed it with hers 

And both kittens followed Roger home as me and Mary brought up the rear 

- September

I can’t dance

Never have been able to.

Some of that is my dyspraxia 

Mostly I have a limited sense of rhythm 

And a huge dollop of self consciousness 

The last time I danced was with a patient at her request

She asked me about my bucket list and I mentioned dancing

She shared it was one of her wishes to dance again

As it turned out she had less than a week to live

So she asked me to dance, a funny silly little dance

Me in my navy uniform, she in pyjamas and fluffy slippers 

And we danced in her room after pushing a set of drawers against the door so no one else could see.

Fuck You

 

Weaver remains aloof with me and darn right aggressive  with the Welsh. 

If she was human, she would be termed as a damaged adolescent 

She certainly has issues.

She clearly loves her sister 

And just occasionally she will allow me an ear scratch but only when I’m supine in bed

But if the dogs are in any close proximity, she is a tiger, a Shere Khan, crossed with Vicky Pollard

If she could speak she’d be yelling FUCK YOU 

With her middle claw extended

Before punching you smartly in the face.

Oh the shame of owning a daughter with such problems 

Is she A Bad Seed? Roseanne’s Darlene? Dolores  Umbridge ? A Bette Davies Baby Jane? 

Bun remains sweet, and acts as though she should be wearing a gingham dress and pigtails 

Weaver I bet is upstairs pulling the wings off flies. 

It’s a shame

I will be letting them loose on the village soon

Gawd help us all