Tuesday, March 4, 2008

I Can't Have An Affair With The Pool Attendant Because He Thinks I Am A Buoy

Quite possibly the most bizarre situations to be in: sitting typing and clamping your arse cheeks together because you’ve just shoved a suppository up there, sweating profusely as the cramps engulf your stomach; valiantly pretending it ain’t happening. For someone who has always been of the opinion that things should only come out of there, never up – this is an interesting game to be playing. One thing is for sure – I’d rather my hand was up there than my GP’s - which is what’s going to happen if I don’t crap soon.

I have swollen to thrice my normal size over these past few days. My face looks like a barrage balloon and all I can think about are the toxins that have to be building up inside my gut, largely because of the current blockade that appears to be forming. Stress makes you constipated, medication makes you constipated; not eating properly makes you constipated. So I’ve eaten all the roughage I can, I’m drinking that weird fibre stuff from Boots, I’m drinking litres of water, I’m jumping around like an idiot and smoking like a fiend… Scientifically speaking I should be tied to the toilet, but sweet F.A is happening.

Today is my fourth day north. It’s been OK (apart from the lack of bowel movement). I have been up and down mood wise, which is to be expected - and has come to be expected. The adjustment is always difficult; being away from my routine, my life, my way of doing things, extracting myself from my way of keeping sane and landing in amongst a busy house with friendly faces that all want to help and make things easier. It’s hard to relax and unwind. It’s hard to let go and lean on someone else when you are terrified that if you let go – even an inch, you’ll unravel. (No wonder I’m constipated) I’ve been getting frustratingly confused these past days, finding the simplest of tasks complicated. I couldn’t work out how to print off some work from my laptop the other day and got really upset about it, only because I know how to do shit like that in my sleep. I tried to help my sister sort out her iPod, something else I’ve done many a time, and failed miserably. I couldn’t get my head round the simplest of instructions. I am also finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate – especially when someone else is about and talking to me, the added noise making me irritable. My dreams are as chaotic as my head seems to be. I gave up on sleep early this morning because the dreams were so annoying and transparent that I might as well have been awake, so I got up. The ‘breathe and reboot’ system of going back to bed for twenty minutes to half an hour has also been an active participant in my days. It worked this morning, until I went shopping with Mum. Then I got cranky - all by myself. My form still distresses me. I hate walking around in this body and assume that everyone else is looking thinking that I must eat a fuck of a lot of pies. I should just make a t-shirt to that effect. Then again, that all just sounds like bull eh? “It’s my medication” “Aye right.”

Sunday was, of course, Mother’s Day and involved both bowing and backing out of the door when the slurring started and my eyelids clamped shut. Honestly folk must think I am the most unsociable creature…

Yesterday I did something I haven’t done in a while, um, four years plus to be (kind of) exact - swimming. Can you imagine my surprise when my emancipated body, actually did what I asked of it? 50 odd lengths of the pool later, I emerged, pretty damn pleased with myself.

God, I need to sleep dearest. More tomorrow after shooting: “Yes, with guns”. Tally-bloody-ho.

No comments: