OneGoodArm Swear Scale: 46 Degrees and Counting
So in the year of up and up things seem to be going downhill. It’s very annoying that just wanting things to be better and attaching a hashtag to my blog does not automatically Make. Things. Better. Damn you reality. Today (actually it was yesterday) I am (was) having a BAD day. I woke up feeling terrible and no amount of chocolate bullets was helping. My arm hurts, actually my arm is screaming all kinds of profanities all of the time, it will not stop no matter what position I put it in.
In the sling – shoulder and hand pain.
Out of the sling – elbow, forearm and hand pain.
On a soft bed of cushions – the whole fucking arm is hurting god damn it.
But it’s not the pain, I can handle that rubbish, its everything else. I looked at Facebook today (ok the day before, goddamnit don’t write a blog one day and post it the next) and everything gave me the shits. It was also 46deg outside which is enough to turn anyone into a maniac. But on Facebook I saw dear friends taking an annual pilgrimage Husband and I used to take on our pair of ‘road’ superbikes (an R1 and my Tricolore). Can’t do that anymore. Well not unless I went as a pillion. Heaven help me. I didn’t spend 25 years learning to ride a superbike like a (competent racer) man to be ferried around behind a man like a handbag.
Other friends were taking their horses to the beach, something I used to do and love. Strike that off too. Northern friends were burning around the coast in a new 911 4S (420HP!!), bet it was a manual. Family are off camping in paradise. Well I guess I could do that if I had a caravan. But I don’t (“Husband! I am buying a caravan”).
Husband was waterskiing yesterday morning. Never tried it, now can’t learn. And I won’t as a BPI is also a water skiers injury alongside a bikers. I am not stupid enough to tempt the BPI gods more than once. More friends are buying boats, out on the water, learning to barefoot. Fuck all you able bodied people. (#idon’treallymeanit)
I am not allowed to swim currently because of my scars, which in a summer #fireball, is FUCKING ANNOYING. I just have to stand sweating and staring by the side of the pool. And to add insult to injury this is one of the things I can still do. Well I can’t ‘swim’ anymore per se but I can flop around like a spastic in the beautiful cold water of our pool. The closest I got yesterday was being hosed by Husband after suffering heat stroke tending to the horses in 46 degrees. Or was it the day before? Who cares? You are right, no one.
So basically everything everyone does pisses me off. I want to punch Husband’s face in as everything he does irritates me half to death (well not today – but definitely yesterday – ok recently). Sorry Husband but this blog is not about you. Unless you are annoying the shit out of me, then it’s about you for that moment where I describe said annoyance. Deal with it. You have all your limbs. Of course he isn’t actually being annoying, but he is, you know, the only adult within swearing range currently. Luckily he loves me. Well he used to. (“Husband! Do you still love me even though I am psycho?”). *squirms in silence biting fingernails
Yesterday morning I sat on the kids bedroom floor and sobbed whilst I folded fifty thousand tiny shirts, underpants and shorts. I was probably sobbing because the clothes are so small and annoying and difficult to fold. And that I was doing such a shit job. And it was sweltering. Either way I folded. And sobbed. And sweated.
I am not sobbing now. Now I am just hungry as the bowl of cherries and two handfuls of bullets I have eaten all day are not really doing it for me.
I know brighter days and new adventures will come, but for now (well yesterday) I feel shit. Even writing this blog is annoying me. Especially as the “New Year, Same Problems” blog has so many typos! Of course I only find them when I have hit “publish”. Fuck you Murphy.
I also miss my stupid friend (“Just Let it go Fluffy”) and think about her every day. When will that stop I wonder. Perhaps when I chop my head off and carve out the part of my brain she is stored in. Unfortunately after 16 years, it’s a large part. No doubt the ability to be irritated is all that may remain.
So tonight I will have some scotch, eat a steak, I will look forward, I will either punch Husband or apologise to him – it could go either way – and he doesn’t read this blog very regularly so I am reasonably safe, I will pray for an end to the #fireball and I will try and accept my fate.
If only there was something I was good at, other than swearing, that I could do over and over to make me feel better. Hmmm let’s see – putting on make-up. That is depressing. Upon her tombstone they wrote “her rouge was always flawless, of course it was Chanel”. Groan.
I guess I have made it through eight (nine) days without buying any clothes, so that is something. Well I did buy a hat. Because you know, the sun = wrinkles. Oh and I bought three shirts for my son. That doesn’t count does it? I am going with no. Oh and I bought a bra. But you know, the planets, they are ridiculously heavy and need new scaffolding regularly. So that doesn’t count either. But no ‘clothes’ or shoes. Err, I did buy a couple of bags, three actually, but two of them were gifts. And bags are definitely NOT clothes. Phew. I am amazing. What willpower.
Oh and my new (old) saddle arrived and it was wrapped in no less than 25 metres of bubble wrap and wrapping tape. Do you know how hard something the shape of a roping saddle bubble wrapped within an inch of its life to make it through its postal journey is to remove with one arm? Imagine trying to hang on to a large excited pig covered in oil. Only more frustrating. Here I am giving it a red hot shake.
Anyway I will be better, don’t fret. It’s just most people don’t spew out their every day in a blog so you are better protected from their daily dose of verbal diarrhoea. Sorry to punish. But it is better to write about the good and the bad. Otherwise everyone will think I am fake and as annoying as I actually am. And nobody wants that. Not even Husband.
Also I just read the last note of Holly Butcher 1990-2018 (google it) and I gave myself a swift upper cut and got over myself. Life is a gift people. Cherish it!