(July 10, 2012)
How’s life?
Full of attacks.
Let’s start with the one with the smallest cause..which had the most effect.
Friday night stomach bug… very nasty. I’m not often ill… but this was a doozy. I spent the night wandering porcelein potty in arms between bedroom and bathroom. (the potty was to be sick in…. i miss the cool warmth of a plastic familiar smelling sick bowl i can go to sleep hugging… in childhood it was yellowish.. i should buy a new comfort bowl).
There was a point in the middle of the night where standing in front of the toilet waiting for the contractions to come faster and become a body doubling vomit attack when i thought, in my delirium, that i was having a baby and no-one had told me i was pregnant.
Not well at all….
Saturday Jane buggered off partying for the night… I wasn’t fit to do anything…couldn’t eat anything still… could manage water in moderate amounts. Luckily my daughter had mooted she’d be home at the weekend and so I asked her to come saturday…and she took over from Jane in looking after rafe, and she walked the dog and fetched and carried for me.
The result of Jane partying was the second attack, which if you are interested you can read on her blog. In short…. she was hanging out alone in Kings Cross Station at 5.30 in the morning and took a load of nasty verbal abuse from a load of piss heads.
Its not good.
But then… as I told her she’s the only woman I know who would hang out at a station on her own at that time of the morning.
In a utopian society or perhaps a fascist police state maybe it would be an acceptable and safe thing to do… in reality… no.
no no no no no.
You learn as you grow up female that you just don’t do that. You just don’t.
I’ve been on slutwalk… I know women should have the right to go where they please, dress how they like and behave however makes them happiest… but you don’t ACTUALLY walk the walk and put yourself at risk unless you are very silly, want to make a martyred point or maybe just maybe are hanging onto some residual ‘privilege’ from a previous incarnation.
She took the abuse as she had nowhere else to go and ‘it was raining outside’.
Sometimes I despair..and like an irate father would like to lock her up until she learns some fucking sense.
Yeah yeah she’s making some valid points to various official bods about personal safety in train stations in the early hours of the morning… but..yanno… myself… I’d rather be curled up on the bathroom floor vomiting my guts out than running that gauntlet with the alcoholic underclass in the small wee hours.
But that aside…. the rseults of my virusy microbey attack were positive… a 5lb weightloss (maybe there really was a baby – i’ll check behind the washing basket later) and a huge improvement in my psoriasis… answers on a postcard to the usual address if you have an inkling about tht one… my thoughts are lactose based but then I’m a well known hypochondriac of this parish.
Third attack… fairly minor but I quite impressed myself, was waking in my sick bed to see a swarm of ants issuing from a corner of the windowsill.
shit!
I went and called Jane…asked if we had any ant powder and she said she’d ‘look later’… I politely asked the ants to hold fire whilst she got round to it but they didn’t seem in the mood to compromise. So… I thought fast…. what did I have to hand?
Tea tree oil…. poured liberally round the hole stopped the buggers coming out and killed a few on contact.
Followed swiftly with a dose of sellotape to pick up the ones already running and flying around.
Job done.
