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Ink Blot

Published April 11, 2022 by helentastic67

Ink Blot!

There are these posts that I put off writing because I never want someone who knows me in real life to look me in the eye and quote any part of it and while I could start this post different ways, here’s how it is.

You know those days a friend off loads all their shit and drama on you within five minutes of walking in the door? No? Just me then?

Well, I’m just warning people the next time this happens, I may cut them off with this. If you get through the day and you didn’t end up in your ensuite with your pants down around your ankles, your Thundies around your knees with poo (You heard me) on them and your face on the floor in the corner.

Oh, both shoes off, your AFO still half on (Being the reason you fell off the toilet in the first place) and this is the clincher. An ink blot poo stain on your floor and poo on the wall (still not sure how that got there), then you have what we call first world problems. Sometimes a friend will tell me, ‘Oh Helen, everyone has problems.’

From now on I will direct them to the above highlighting ‘ink blot’. It’s a great image, isn’t it? If you’re not sure what it is, it’s the weird prints on the wall in a shrinks’ office walls, clients (sorry) ask “what is that anyway?” and the shrink returns, “It’s whatever you think it is.”

Usual answers

“Oh! It’s 2 people making love”
Or “It’s a butterfly”
Or “2 cows”
Lol.

There’s nothing worse than being on the floor in a compromising position and having to work through what you must do in order to get up. That’s that!

I need to eventually roll over onto my right, straight onto my ass, naked ass, I will add, knowing exactly how cold that would be and then wriggle over to the hand basin. More wriggling, onto my knees, right elbow on hand basin then after pulling the second strap off my AFO, try to wiggle my left foot behind me and lever myself up.

Mostly, my right side leads on these adventures and I demand my left leg eventually pulls some weight. Add Pine O’ Clean, toilet cleaner/Napisan and Sard stain treatment, clean Thundies and pants and some serious cleaning in Aisle 2 (Don’t overthink it!) and I’m upright and ready to face the day.

Yeah! This happens to be the best of us and if someone tells you this kind of story, don’t pardon the pun – It’s pretty shitty.

I once had a carer arrive on a Saturday morning and when she saw my ensuite she asked, “What happened here?”

I’m telling you, I cleaned the bathroom, so there was no evidence of what had transpired in there the night before. I explained and to say it was of some similarity to the above and she asked, “Did you just sit on the floor and cry?”

I’m not saying you don’t want to, but it doesn’t help. You gotta plan your attack, do what you have to do to get up/get cleaned up/clean up the bathroom and get dressed.

If all you can do is get into bed to sleep off the trauma, you should. But sitting on the floor in self-pity doesn’t help.

Next!

And Next

Published February 7, 2020 by helentastic67

And Next

A few years back I went to my High School reunion (25 years) and one particular guy asked me these questions.

“Married?”
And my reply, short and sweet “No”
“Divorced?”
(in my head WFT) Again “No”
Then “Children?”
“What?” (again, in my head WFT) “No! Why?”

Now, I do not feel I’ve failed at life because I’ve not done any of those things. I have dated, not much dating. More meet a guy, spend time with said guy (No! Not bonk each other’s brains out) maybe a little, but the stuff you do to work at, if you want to be permanently attached to this person forever.

What? I am a hopeless romantic. I just am not willing to throw myself at every man out there to find a decent one.

Sidebar: Where the hell are the decent one’s by the way?

I digress, I’ve had relationships. Sure, they broke my heart. The others, I broke theirs, or they didn’t have a heart to break.

I have the mentality to not go back when a relationship is over. Alas, if it didn’t work the first time and the one’s that got away have never come back.

And NEXT.

Limits

Published December 27, 2017 by helentastic67

Limits

Limits

With the possible exception of relationships with boyfriends in recent years, I’ve learnt my limit for dealing with bullshit or ‘whatever’ is four years.

There are some houses I’ve lived in for four years and I’ve moved when landlords wanted to renovate and sell, or just sell. I’ve now been where I am for four years and about to sign a lease for a fifth year. The last three years, the rent has been inching upwards to ridiculous.

Landlord

But to other things, such as my voluntary efforts, I generally throw myself in and do that original assessment.

  • What am I doing?
  • What needs doing?
  • What needs to change so I can do this?
  • What can or do we need to achieve by being here?
  • Is it achievable?
  • Am I being respected and supported?

When you put it into those terms, four years seems like a long time, right? So, it is with great frustration at this year’s AGM of the Self Advocacy group, I’m part of that I’m resigning from my role as Treasurer.

Self advocacy

I’m not a quitter generally, so it really leaves me unsatisfied and frustrated and grumpy.

No quitter

Next!

 

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