I’m struggling to find blogging inspiration lately. Actually, no that’s not true. I have things that I could blog about, things that I probably should get out of my system – and have, in a few not really publishable posts, in my drafts folder. I want to be able to blog about the kids and about things we are doing, about nice happy things, but I just can’t muster up the emotional energy to do that. It feels as though that effort might just break me. And I can’t post about the other things. I guess I think that I have exceeded my quota of grim and whiny posts lately. I can’t subject anyone to more of my whinging.
So, I can’t write anything nice, I can’t write what’s on my mind, therefore I can’t write anything at all.
This is my blog, though, isn’t it?
Consider yourselves warned.
It is exhausting having to put on the cheerful, functional act for people in the real world. I can’t say to most people – Yes, I am in pain. Yes, still. No, I’m not any better. No, those 43 helpful suggestions of things I might like to try to make-myself-better-and-why-aren’t-I-doing-them-already are not any more helpful or useful than the last time you made them to me. There is no simple thing that just hadn’t occurred to me before that will suddenly make it all better.
It’s just so very much easier to say, “I am fine, pelvis is fine thanks”.
So, in case you were wondering, pelvis is not fine. I am not fine. But what do you do? You can’t get a replacement body.
I had pelvis x-rays the other day. I am convinced that they will show a normal, happy pelvis. Pelvis knows how to turn it on for the doctors. The rheum will tell me that my pain is in my head and I will be back in the land of no-one gives a shit.
Gee, I’m an upbeat little thing, aren’t I?
He gets out on Monday. His detention is coming to an end, our piece of mind with it. He appealed his detention, subjecting us all to more stress but thank goodness it was upheld. He has been on his best behaviour though (we think, no way of knowing for sure) because he has been transferred back to local, not so secure public hospital ward.
The police screwed up the restraining order. A typo means it started and ended on the exact same date. It went back through the magistrates court to correct that today but the paperwork Mum received still shows the typo. The police can’t serve him with the typo in place. Did I mention he gets out on Monday?
We are hoping that the court mistakenly faxed her the old, unaltered one and he will be served tomorrow. I am not that hopeful.
If it doesn’t happen before he gets out then we will have to convince her to hide somewhere.
As my more astute readers will have surmised, Beefcake is, um, beefy. He’s been that way since shortly after we met. I like to joke that once he’d snagged me he just let it all go. It’s kind of true. So. I was whining to him about it tonight. I’m not annoyed about his huskyness so much as the vast sums of money we’ve sunk into his weight loss in recent times only to have him turn around, sit down and gain it all back again.
He takes my annoyance (mostly) good naturedly as he knows it’s just the general background drone of whining I like to produce to accompany our lives. Tonight though, he came up with a phrase that I felt was so genius, I had to share.
Apparently all of this losing and gaining has been of benifit to him after all as he is working towards “adjusting his fat paradigm”. His father subjected him to many a self-help tape as a child and it has obviously had an effect. Imagine trying to have a serious whinge to someone who is adjusting their fat paradigm. Ain’t gonna happen.
At least he makes me laugh.
Update: The magistrate’s court did indeed put it through complete with typo AGAIN! Seriously.