Not quite sure what's pissing me off but god I feel right grumpy at the moment. Work's shit, house jobs are shit, social life is shit (well it isn't but it feels it), hair's shit, Mojo's hurt her tail – shit, Mum & her carer are a bit omnipresent – shit, I haven't got a week off till May – shit, never manage to stay on a diet long enough to lose weight – shit, still got no carpet on the stairs, painter not finished, got to take Mum to endless appointments – shit… And so it goes on.<\/p>\n
Mostly its work though – feel VERY stuck here, same old story of not being able to choose to do something different (because the second I left you can be sure that I'd need the health insurance that I of course can't magically take with me, or get elsewhere). Feel isolated, disconected from the business, like I'm pushing water uphill, lonely and generally GRUMPY. And not helped by having a meeting with Paul McGowan coming up in 63 minutes time. Oh make that 73 minutes, as he's bound not to be on time.<\/p>\n
Think its a combination of feeling the walls of opportunity\/freedom closing in on me – every day feels like walking down one of those Halls of Mirrors where the corridor narrows and gets lower at every step and you end up squashed in a foetal ball, with the ceiling on your head, suffocating. Yes, that'll be the threat of fucking MM coming back soon, don't need a degree in Shrinkiness to work that one out.<\/p>\n
And because its getting closer, though who ever knows how bloody close? – its gone from my brain being able to say 'suck the life out of every day and love every moment' to 'you're almost out of time, it's going to change any second, next time with Prof it will all go to tits, don't enjoy it too much as the cliff face you're about to fall off is getting higher every time you have a nice moment'. And other such useful mindfuck meanderings.<\/p>\n
And OK, not at all made a milimetre better by one of my Under 50 Group, who very sadly died last Friday. Woman called Sharon Grainger, was also 39 when diagnosed, 10 months AFTER I was, and who is now dead. Her profile photo is her in jeans on a hillside at a festival, with a pint of beer in her hand. Leaving two kids and a lovely husband. The third of the group that I know has died, and a lot whose profiles are woefully silent these days.<\/p>\n
Hawksey keeps saying 'we're going to be one of the lucky ones' but what he can't see, or doesn't want to face is that we've ALREADY BEEN one of the lucky ones. The fact I'm here, working, healthy, drug-free and OK and have been for 3 years and 2 months since transplant shows that. It scares me how it will be for him when this does go wrong again. Really scares me. So this will be yet another one of the times that I ask each of you to log this thought in your heads, for the day he needs you. Because he will. Although he'll probably pretend he's ok, so all the more reason for you to – please – keep checking in on him over not just the weeks after the inevitable, but the months and – this'd be great – years too. It's a Paddington moment – Please Take Care of this Bear.<\/p>\n
Sorry, knwo this is a miserable read, but it's kind fo where my head's at, at the moment. Trying to motivate myself to shuffle the piles of shit on my desk into some semblance of a plan and attack with energy, but would honestly prefer to go home and get under the duvet. Via Waitrose's ice cream section. And possibly the red Lindor area. Or maybe the cheap but weirdly satisfying Onion Rings crisps aisle. <\/p>\n
Right nob face, stop blathering on and try and do something. Just one thing first, then maybe the next will follow. And if all else fails, its only 4 hours till my weekend officially starts and I wil at least not be in the office till Monday morning. Toughie trying to kickstart yourself when you don't feel like it. But here we go… Hand reaching to mini fridge for Diet Coke, let's see if that oils the mental cogs. Sx<\/p>\n
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Not quite sure what's pissing me off but god I feel right grumpy at the moment. Work's shit, house jobs are shit, social life is shit (well it isn't but it feels it), hair's shit, Mojo's hurt her tail – shit, Mum & her carer are a bit omnipresent – shit, I haven't got a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1227","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n