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Dear Diary

A 3743-post collection

Commence the Unfuckening!

I'm in for some Interesting Times, this week. Friendo is coming to unriddle the ungodly mess that my home has become and maybe come up with some solutions for a more permanent state of unfucked.

I suspect a majority of the floor debris will be dealt with in one day. Making a useful system will take longer.

And in the middle of all this, I also have to budget time to do my Instant and my book contribution. Because I can't make money with housework.

Well, only if I do it for someone else, and I only have so many spoons.

Beloved is home crook because their pills are kicking their arse. But at least it's kicked in a positive direction. Lower blood sugar is good, even when it makes them feel like a bag of arseholes.

I have shopping to do, words to write, and a house to unfuck. This is going to be "fun".

Once again...

The little darlings are safely in scenic Coominya whilst my friendo comes up to unfuck the entire house for three days.

Not the week I was hoping for, but an improvement on the base state of zero friends and zero days.

Sure, I would have got back to achievable cleanliness eventually, but eventually is a slow boat to frustration and woe.

And speaking of frustration and woe... Beloved and I are off to MeMum's to unfuck her compy and make sure it's

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Hello, Inertia. Can I kick your arse?

Yesterday, my Beloved begged off of the daily walk because of a light rain. I could understand because they have cloth-sided walking shoes. Even the best of athletic shoes are water permeable and not proof against the slings and arrows of early morning dew.

Or a good, soaking rain.

It's why I wear my boots when the ground is moist.

Today, however, Beloved's diabetes pills are kicking their arse and they're not feeling so very well at all, this morning.

At first,

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Herp de Derp

As usual, I got my wires crossed and the day when I'm getting that heart monitor is NEXT Wednesday. I found out when I looked up my calendar and realised that I was a week ahead of myself.

Everything else is in sync, just this one thing has got mis-assigned. Go figure.

I'm getting ahead on the new regime. For limited definitions of 'ahead'. Instead of doing everything with my inertia-bound Beloved, I use the time when they are making me spin

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Yoiks and Awaaaaaaayyy!

I got my first rejection, yesterday. The agent I sent a sample to, sent me a "thanks but no thanks" letter. I can't let that get to me, but at least I'm not set up to fail on my birthday.

And today, sometime between getting a heart-monitoring harness fitted, fetching a new battery (or more) for my sleep monitor, fetching the kids, arranging dinner, writing my book, etc.... I will fling another sample towards another agency and set my timer for potential

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Re-arrangements

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. I have kids to deliver to grandparents on Saturday. Tech support and guests coming up on Sunday. The house is entirely skew-wiff. And I only have so many spoons with which to make improvements.

Beloved is seeing a dietician today, which will likely mean that 1000000000% of the food they love and the food we have is instantly unsuitable and must be taken far, far away and burned for the good of humanity.

And it will also mean that

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New regime

Beloved's been undergoing a run of tests, lately, to discover the root behind an accelerated heart rate. And the answer, dear readers, is diabetes plus cholesterol.

Since I'm still undergoing my own battery of tests, in regards to that same vital muscle, we both figured it'd be great if we got into some healthier habits. Which means breakfast for both of us, morning walks together, and mutual self-maintenance schedules.

The tricky things to do are way less tricky when there's company. It's

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Can they see me?

Neil Gaiman said something interesting on his Tumblr, today. The whole post is here but the meat of it is this:

Your job isn’t to convince your teachers that they are wrong, just as it’s not your job to accept their prejudices. Your job is to learn enough from them that when you become a famous writer, whether of fantasy or of something else, they’ll have to be proud of you anyway.

And it's a lovely, inspiring message. There's

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New and interesting ways of fucking up

I usually try to never make the same mistake twice. That often leads to the title of this blog entry.

I just got over a major depressive bout (I'm still in the fragile stages FYI) and discovered that my breathing problems might just be because I'm actually having lung trouble rather than emotional issues.

It's a process of elimination, folks.

Experiencing breathing difficulty:

  • Is it a rhinovirus? Nope. Got over that.
  • Is it depression? Nope. Got over that (mostly).
  • Is it my
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What a wonderful day for my messed-up mind

Yesterday, I was having a sort-of ok day. As in, I didn't feel completely atrocious and that was a step forward. One... giant leap, if you will.

BUT I also noticed that my asthma meds were playing me up and I really should talk to the Quack because I should not be oscillating so frequently between tremula and lack of air.

According to my nails, I'm getting plenty of oxygen. According to my sensation of breathing, I'm struggling to get air.

That's

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Deeeeeeep breaths...

I have an old slanguage term from my childhood days of shaking off disease. It's 'dishraggy'. As in, feeling like a limp, slightly greasy, overdue for a wash, dishrag.

It's a very floppy feeling. The effort to raise an arm is barely worth it. The greasiness resides in the soul, and can't be washed out with all the hot bubblebaths in the world.

So, in short, I am feeling 'better'. For limited definitions of 'better. I'm more mentally prepared to be functional,

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I hate this firkin spiral

Depression sucks. Spoonlessness sucks. I have no energy because I have the sads. I have the sads because I feel like I let everyone down. I let everyone down because I lack the energy to do things for everyone. I lack the energy to do things for myself.

Down and down I go
Round and round I go
In a spin...

Well it ain't that old black magic called love, that's for sure. I know where I'm headed and it isn't a

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Urggh, I feel GROOOOSSSSSS

There's a cartoon that's shared often on Tumblr, and I relate to it greatly today.

Original Post

In my case, I've got anxiety, depression, and malaise all queueing up behind the aches and pains. Along with the usual self-doubt and defeatism that makes my life such a fun, rollercoaster-esque, dizzying, mad whirl 9_9

And in the back of my head, there's this firkin annoying little optimist who insists that I can do the thing because it will be "such fun". Yeah

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Fargnax!

MeMum actually rang and insisted that we couldn't come over and fix her computer, including the issues she had with a naughty printer because of the vital importance of copying important documents from it by hand.

Read that over a few times and try to unriddle it, because I am firkin lost.

If only there was an easier way to get those things. Like... having a device that could print copies on demand. But obviously the need for having copies of documents

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Teh PLN

MeMum's compy has been going do-lally and not behaving according to wants. And there was mention of clicking a pop-up... which might mean virii have been installed.

But then again, MeMum is legendary with technological incompetence, and could not properly install the last virus. For all I know, everything is (a) hunky, (b) dory, and, (c) not plugged in properly (again).

Nevertheless, I am installing a damn add blocker. I know some good ones. And so does Beloved.

The little darlings have

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