|
JAYNE WITH A WHY |
|
|
. : Recent Posts : .
OH TO BE A DOCTOR & WHAT HAS TO BE THE BEST RETORT... . : Archives : .
January 2006 . : On My Perch at Night, I'm Reading A Book On My Kindle: .
|
. : motley assortment of blogs from other parts of the multiverse : .
. : MY FAMILY MOTTO: FUCK 'EM ALL EXCEPT US: .
. : Credits : .
Template By Caz . : email: spadgesmum at gmail dot com .
|
|||||
Saturday, June 05, 2010THE SLUDGE IS TAKING STRAINThe Sludge is what I call an excuse for that mass of grey cells contained within the boundaries of my skull - i.e. my brain. I know I've got one, 'cos I've seen it on a scan, years ago when a bastard mosquito bit me in Ghana & I ended up feeling like a bag of snakes thanks to malaria. So, I know I've got a brain. And just recently, it seems to be taking strain. Worry is a key factor in my strain. I worry about stupid things. I should be worrying that my son arrives safely at his destination & remembers to buy a fridge magnet for me............I mean a fridge magnet ranks as important dunnit? Instead, I find myself worrying that he won't fall asleep in a transit lounge in one of the 6 airports he has to go through in order to reach his destination. I worry that he's going to be too knackered to concentrate on the reason he's flown half way around the world - a rugby training camp in New Zealand. It's important for him, in his career, so I worry he'll keel over from jet-lag & wake up in an airport 2 stops from his destination 3 days after the camp starts. I'm a mum. I'm entitled to worry about my boy, even if he is 29yrs old. I find myself taking silent strain for Hubs, who is anxiously awaiting to find out if he's obtained his Masters degree. He's worked so hard to achieve this & although I know from previous assignment results that he should sail through with his final assignment (his dissertation), I tend to worry about how disappointed he'll be should he fail. I keep telling him he won't fail, I just know he WON'T fail, but it doesn't stop me worrying. Since my dingbat parents decided to return to the UK after nearly 36yrs in South Africa, I've kinda guaranteed myself a weekly dose of having a mild to major stress-on, depending on their latest crisis. My dad fell in the snow & broke his shoulder. He became horribly depressed. My mother joined his misery club & the pair of them ended up on anti-depressants, which it appears the UK doctors like to hand out like Smarties. They're both in their 70's & both living on fuckin' happy pills, just to get through the day. Promises made by certain family members were not kept & they have been emotionally devastated. Thankfully, they've now moved into a place of their own, which is hardly ideal, but they can call it their own. They started their married lives some 56yrs ago, in a mobile home, as they couldn't afford even a rented house. Fast forward almost 60yrs & they're now back where they started, in a residential parkhome. They're thankfully happier now that they're in their own spot, which is a small but significant blessing. They've bought a little car & I'd be alot happier if mum hadn't told me that she thinks dad will burn the clutch out because he seems to think 2nd gear is fit for all purposes............  And now onto an additional lump of strain I've taken upon myself.......I've decided to try & lose weight. When I stood on the scales a few weeks back, I swear I heard a groan. I sucked my tummy in & looked down at the results, which were, in a nutshell, fucking frightening. I HAVE to do something about my weight, otherwise I reckon Hubs will be able to start looking for a replacement for me, much sooner than anticipated. Since getting the bikes a coupla years back, I've always said that I'm happy so long as I can still swing my leg over the bike & climb aboard. Well, thanks to some creaking joints - courtesy of my additional weightload I'm sure - I now find it can be a tad awkward to swing a leg over. In fact, to the silent observer, I may look like I'm a beached whale attempting to do a Saturday Night Fever dance move. I decided it was time for action & just the thought of it left me knackered. I'm not on a diet. I've simply changed what I eat & drink. I've also started exercising, which is something I never thought I'd do again & for that, my thanks go out to a good friend, who has a well equipped gym set up at her home. For the past fortnight, I've been to gym 5 days of the week & just recently, have varied the routine by walking 3-4km. The tape measure & scales are showing results, even if I can't really see them myself (yet). Most nights I fall into the perch absolutely stuffed & am rattling the windows with my snoring within 15 nanoseconds. I've set myself an initial goal of losing 10kg, with the next goal being 20kg. I'm not in a hurry as such, although I'd obviously love to fit into smaller sized jeans & normal female sized T-shirts, as opposed to the mens XXL I currently wear (<--- I'm talking Harley T's here) As for the cartoon above, well that's just for the 'lighter' side of my weight issue. (Just as a warning, anyone thinking of commenting that I should be 'more sensitive' because they've had to deal with the issue, can fuck right off now or simply have the comment deleted). I've got a warped sense of humour & I ain't apologising to anyone for it. I've proved that I've won the battle against anorexia by all my wobbly bits - from the chin down - plus I couldn't make myself puke, cos me denture's would get stuck & I'd end up choking meself to death! Right, I'm outta here. Time to do a spot of housework & then head out to the garage, to help Hubs (by watching & providing coffee!) who is fitting new bits of bling to T2. Photos to follow another day. She's going to look so bitchy!  
|
